


"Stretching"

by AriadneVenegas



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and hope wraped in twisted vampire and human's politics, But also a consultive hunter, Cases without spoilers but with twist and certainly blood, F/F, F/M, Femlash, Het, It's All Fine, John is a vampire Bamf, Love at First Sight, M/M, Moriarty is an evil Vampire, Mycroft still owns the government and some of the Mirrorworld., Sherlock is a consultive detective, Slash, Slow Build, Some scenes of rape but not graphic, Spoilers for ASIP-TSIB and TGG, poor humans don't know a thing, vampires and hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriadneVenegas/pseuds/AriadneVenegas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Holmes family had being hunting the rogue vampire, Moriarty, for centuries. Little by little he had been taking the world into his web but now the<br/>Vampire Council has sent "The Sword and The Healer" to resolve the situation. Meanwhile, London was rearranging itself to receive a new wild card, Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Holmes and Moriarty.

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s151.beta.photobucket.com/user/ariadnechan/media/a27d9253-c0e3-459d-8351-c4a5a195a482_zpsa40bab75.jpg.html)  
>  banner by me

**Disclaimers:**  Most of this is not mine. Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, White Wolf Publishing and Bram Stoker contributed a lot. I just put it in a shaker with my love and some of my own vampire creation and voila!  
 **Betas:** Thanks to My wonderful and fabulous friends Mojoflower and  Mildred_Bobbin You are awesome and I love you both!  
 **Author's Notes:**  In this fic, vampires do not sparkle, do not sell their blood, and you certainly can't kill them with silver;  because silver works only to kill and hurt werewolves, as every old tradition says.  But in my AU both old vampires, and those newly sired by very old vampires, can walk in the sun.

They are ruled by a Prince in each city and a country or a continent by a council. (*more in the notes at the end)  
   
Vampires have more powers than just the Glamour of the new vampiric stories; but these came at a price, resulting in certain quirks unique to each Clan bound by Blood.  
   
From the Masquerade I will borrow 5 clans, but merge them into 3:  The Gangrels, the Malkavians-Bruja and the Ventrue-Tremere. (*see more notes at the end of the prologue).  
   
The Mirrorworld is the name the vampire gives to their society, because they hide from human awareness in plain sight.  
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
 

   
   
   
 **Prologue**

   
   
 'Time stretches around them that were their secret. They know you not for a day, but for a century or two.'  
 

   
 **Holmes Estate outside London, 1869** *  
(*note: The estate, inhabited by the main Holmes family line, would eventually be swallowed by the boundaries of the growing city over the next century.)  
 

   
Elsie knew that being a Holmes fiancée would be difficult.  Two hundred years earlier, another woman had broken her engagement to Sir Brian Holmes to go partner with a vampire and thus became part of the enemy.  The family definitely has trust issues with their new additions since then: they still had not forgiven or forgotten, and they became vampire hunters afterwards.  But Elsie really loved Ian Holmes and she wouldn’t fall for another no matter what.  
   
   
She thought they treated her like a child, not believing the strength of her feelings, and caging her in the house.  They were in the XIX century for crying out loud. Women were educated, and worked in the cities just like the men; in the States women worked side by side with men to colonize the wild new world.  Why must she be treated like a little flower?  
   
   
Ian told her that there were creatures in the night who would take your soul and your blood; and he was only trying to make her safe until he was sure he had defeated them.  She argued that if this were the truth, and he was fighting for his life, then she wanted to fight by his side; but her arguments were to no avail.  
   
   
She decided that she would hunt and fight the vampires, too;  so she read, she studied, she practiced more with her bow. She was champion in her archery category and she had hunted foxes with her father so she trained with the guns available in the house. She told the horse master that she wanted to learn more for when she went to hunt ducks or deers, he accepted this explanation and he took on her tutelage.  
   
   
One night, when Ian went out to hunt she followed him. But when she was about to reach him she discovered she was too late. Ian's companions were dead at his side, and she was too far away to stop the attack of these awful creatures; vampires were all over them drinking their blood. She shivered when she saw what they did with the others hunters who lay with their limbs torn apart. When she was close enough, the gun was of no use. She threw it away and fought with her bow while getting closer to him.  
   
   
Ian was hurt when she finally reached him, but she fought until daylight to protect him. She didn't know at the time but they were trapped by rogue vampires and this kind of vampires were new and unmentored so they would crumble into dust at daylight; but they were driven by hunger and they didn't have a real mind of their own so they were often even more dangerous than proper vampires. So when the morning came the last of the vampires turned to ashes around her and Ian.  
   
   
Ian had a big wound in his chest, but he looked at her in wonder and admiration.  
   
   
"I suppose I will have to take you with me, my bride, if I hunt again."  
   
   
"As you always should, my love," she said caressing his cheeks and his silly mustache, with one hand. She was so tired, but she didn't know what to do, other than hold him and not to think of the red flow which continued its course even when she used her whole dress to contain it.  
   
   
Ian looked at her with pleading eyes and clutched her hand. "I must to ask you for your forgiveness my Elsie, because I will not fulfill my promise to you, and I do not want to take you where I'm going so soon. But I do promise I will come back for you when your time comes, my love." She was crying now, because she knew. She tried only to smile at him and not to cry, not now when he still needed her.  
   
   
"I have to ask you for another favor, as you can never marry me now. Please promise me you will someday marry someone else, and have some beautiful babes for us." Elsie was trembling and saying no with all her being.  But Ian continued inexorably; she understood, but didn't want to hear him saying this. "Please, Elsie.  I don't want you to be alone. You are strong, and I want you to have a happy life, I cannot rest knowing you will suffer. Your descendants will do well in our business don't you think?" He tried to smile and she knew he was trying to comfort her, but a plan was forming in her mind so she nodded.  
   
   
"I promise you, Ian, that I will marry and I will wait for you when you come for me at last.  I love you."  
   
   
He smiled at her and perished as if being consumed by fire, little by little and she held him till the end when his eyes turned void and his body dissolved into the morning fog. She cried at last holding her bow as her only companion long into the midday.  
   
   
She went home to prepare  his funeral instead of their wedding. There she found the youngest of the Holmes’ uncles:  Mycroft Holmes, the next in line and the elder of two brothers.  They married not eight months later. She knew people would talk, but people did little else.  
   
   
Elsie never stopped training, or loving her Ian. And she dedicated her life to the fight against vampires, including the worst of them all, Moriarty.  
   
   
Elsie had a long life with sons and grandchildren. She trained both generations in the art of hunting creatures of the night and thankfully they won more times than they lost. She encountered the elusive Moriarty several times, and never lost the game.   
   
   
Moriarty wanted her badly, she knew.  Once she was taken hostage, and Moriarty invaded her mind, trying to convince her to join him, become one of his lovers; perhaps the only one.  But Elsie knew this was not real love.  She knew of real love because of Ian, knew of tender loving companionship because of Mycroft.  Moriarty felt no love:  only sought ownership, wanted entertainment, wanted to mete out punishment.  It was really easy to say no, and thankfully her son and Mycroft came to save her.  Moriarty escaped again... but so did Elsie.  
   
   
She killed many vampires and learned a lot about their Mirrorworld society. She wrote several journals, and mastered and modified several weapons and attack techniques. She united others and founded the Hunter Association of Britain, which joined those of other countries and the colonies.  
   
   
She was called to the vampire council and she learned and understood more, about how vampires and humans had lived in the same world for millennia and could have a truce.  But peace could never include Moriarty. So she made a treaty with the other vampire  Princes:  the Hunter Association would enforce the agreement and kill both rogue vampires and those who would not sign the treaty.  Members of this pact would work together to bring down Moriarty.  
   
   
 But she couldn't destroy Moriarty, just as he couldn't defeat her. In Britain, the Association could restrict his reign of terror to London.  But he had a lot influence abroad in Europe, and in human criminal networks, so it was becoming dangerously complicated to take him down.  
   
But where she had lost, her family would prevail.  
   
   
Her little daughter Ximena was lost in the battle, when Elsie's strength was abandoning her.  She was killed before her mother’s eyes by Moriarty's favorite lover, the runaway Holmes fiancée of two centuries earlier.  Elsie avenged her daughter, however, killing several vampires before dying in battle.  
   
   
So when Death came for her, she was happy that Ian was there, and also Ximena to welcome her into the heavens.  
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
   
 **Holmes Estate now inside London, XX century, 1971**  
   
   
   
She was in love with a Holmes and Irene Addler knew that was a hazard.  Everybody knew. But Brian was lovely and he was hers.  
   
   
The seventies were dull and he was bright, handsome and there was something more there, and she liked it. Brian was the youngest. She already met the eldest Holmes, Sigger and his beautiful wife Violet, a French painter. They had two kids: a four year old who never stopped running around and a toddler boy with icy, intelligent eyes and dark gingerish hair.  
   
   
She knew they were vampire hunters.  But Sigger, even though he knew all there was to know about hunting, left all the actual work for the British government and his family. Brian had told Irene that Sigger only did paperwork for the Hunter Association. Brian was a real hunter who would willingly trade his life for the life of others.  
   
   
Irene wasn't sure if she was afraid of his way of life or this was the part of him that she loved the most. She wanted to be part of that excitement.  
   
   
She really wanted to start fighting vampires and monsters. But Brian was against it; he said she must first study, but really, there were too many books and journals about it, and they were so dull and tiresome.  She wanted to be where the fighting was, not where the library and the books were. So one night, she decided to follow Brian on one of his raids.  
   
   
She never thought she would be caught in the web of an ancient Holmes enemy.  
   
   
   
 **October, 1971.**

   
   
On that fateful night, as she followed behind Brian in secret, intent on being part of the excitement, she was caught by he who had hunted the Holmes for centuries; their own hunter, James Moriarty.  He carried her off to his lair and dressed her up in a parody of a cabaret dancer and raped and tortured her repeatedly. A monster named Moran was brought in to cut her and then lick her wounds, healing them again with his saliva. It was a horrible nightmare for the innocent, reckless Irene, all the while tormented by Moriarty’s taunting smile.  
   
   
After a week of this, she simply endured without tears, because really, crying was behind her by now. She knew that death awaited her; she knew that she had lost Brian forever, and even if she did survive, she wouldn't be the same.  
   
   
After several days in the closed place where she was kept, another girl was thrown in with her.  She wore fake angel wings, and was dressed in white and lace, while Irene was dressed as a Can-Can girl with red and black lace and black pantyhose. So the monster liked to play and torture playdolls. She was going to die in a Halloween slut costume.  
   
   
James Moriarty returned Halloween night. Moran had been torturing them that week, and Moriarty sneered at the women with a cynical smile and vicious eyes.  
   
   
"So, you survived beautifully, my darlings. A week with Sebastian is not easy. Now I will take you fully and we will see if you can survive my gift."   
   
Irene was sure this was the end.  
   
   
She was raped from behind, as was that poor other girl who by looked now like a ragged doll. And then... Moriarty began to feed, and at last she would die, she knew she was going to die, but pain dulled by more pain may go away.  She violently prayed that her blood was poison and would kill him little by little.  She knew that if she survived she would be turned into a vampire, and would lose Brian either way. So she said goodbye to him and waited.  After a while she was in a bubble behind pain and tiredness, maybe this was death?  
   
   
What happened next was all blurry around the edges.  As if she were dreaming, she could see herself being courted by James Moriarty at start of the century or even before; and she was with him all this time fighting the Holmes who had taken so much from him. She stayed by his side: James, her fiancé, her true love, fighting the Holmes, winning many times, losing many times:  eternal life was never boring when a Holmes was out there.  Through James' mind, she could remember the Holmes matriarch, Elsie. She was a woman to behold, and they wanted her, but she outwitted them every time. James missed Elsie; there were no others like her. Life now was so dull. Causing mayhem was not so much fun after centuries, especially without her.  But now there was Irene, to give him a little light.  Irene then understood the longing, it was not hers, but his. She decided that she would do better to be a light for James, a light for herself. And she found that interesting and new.  
   
   
Irene woke up later, in the same room, but she was not the same.  
   
   
Irene now understood that she would survive because she knew him now, through the dreams which stretched in time for at least a century, and passed to her while he was feeding from her. She didn’t know if the other girl, Annais, survived the night.  
   
   
Irene was then unceremoniously left in a cell at the end of the evening, open for the morning sun; and there was a new human girl by her side. The girl was a little bruised but otherwise unharmed, having been kept as simple livestock on which the vampires would feed.  She was a journalist named Shelly. She was not traditionally beautiful, with black hair and brown eyes, dressed in a cafe au lait suit with trousers.  
   
   
They talked easily, and for a long time.  Irene’s feelings were confused and distorted:  there was a low-level lust that she could not recognize as blood-hunger, so she thought instead that she might be falling in love with Shelly.   An hour or two before sunrise, the girl asked Irene to make her a vampire too.  She couldn't refuse, what she was feeling must be love she said to herself.

 

Irene would not rape her or torture other women, as they did to her, she would take her time loving her.  She had learned from the dreamtime with James the previous night that she could bend time a little; even just for fun. The two hours extended into a night and when Irene  finally took her blood, it was the most intimate and passionate encounter she’d ever had. She couldn’t get enough of it. It was delicious and she wanted, needed, to drink it all, but she understood she must stop if she didn’t want Shelly to die.  
   
   
Irene offered her blood in return, and it was joyously accepted, but sunrise came before the ceremony was complete and the girl vanished in the mist of the morning, turning into ashes.  
   
   
Irene escaped and ran away, but where can you run when James Moriarty is your owner? Finally she gave in, but not without a fight. She realized that she was powerful, too, and dangerous because she knew too much from their exchange of blood. So she used it to find a good position for herself in his web, far away from Brian and her past, in Europe. She would be a dominatrix, she had known before she liked to play and she liked girls too, but apparently she was more open minded in love, more than she thought. As Brian was out of the question she would focus on women from now on. Women of the world beware! And men as well.  Because being a Dominatrix was an excellent career choice for finding people on which to feed, to gather information; and also to be as far away from James as possible. The further from the devil and his malicious smile who hunted her, the better.  
   
   
Years went by in a blink. She was more confident now. She had her position and her name. She had money and contacts, and she was as far away from James Moriarty as she could be. Irene had found love. Yes, a vampire could love... and not like James did, but with passion and tenderness. Kate was beautiful and perfect, and she was Irene's.  
   
   
Irene was satisfied with her underlife, and from afar she watched Brian and his wife and two adolescent kids, Ian and Irene.  The irony of their names didn't escape her. Brian had never stopped looking for her.  But he never found her of course, and was sure she was dead.  
   
   
Also she heard about Sigger and his three sons; Sherrinford who turned into a hunter, Mycroft who turned into the British government and the one Irene never met while she was human, Sherlock.  He had grown into a very handsome and brilliant man, a very dangerous man. James had fallen in love with this boy, as James could love, with hate and vengeance, and Irene knew this wasn't going to be good.  
   
   
Irene knew James wanted him, as she had once seen in his heart how he had longed for and wanted Elsie.  But Sherlock, like his many times great grandmother Elsie, was a Holmes, and he would never surrender. It was probable that Sherlock and his brothers would be defeated in the end, but Irene would remain neutral in their conflict; until she knew whether she could return to the Holmes for shelter or must continue where she was. She had Kate, and she would not lose her for old humans’ loyalties.  
   
   
As she gathered information, which was her function in the web, she focused a little on the Holmes. She knew James would be pleased and she didn't need to give it all away, she never did. A woman has to be clever to survive, but not that 'clever' to catch James Moriarty's rage.  
   
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
   
   
 **Somewhere in Moriarty's Den, October, 1971.**

   
   
Anais did recover that awful night, and when she awoke, she was in a cell a different one than before.  It was still night, but she saw a big window where daylight would destroy her in a few hours.. She wore street clothes now.  She had endured all the torture and all the degradation He put her through. She tried to forget the world and act like a doll while James attacked her again, but both he and she knew she was there. She felt him inside her mind as he was avidly feeding on her blood, she was transported long ago. Moriarty knew that she would never submit to him. But James being James, he took her to several timelines and courted her in several manners.  This continued for an eternity while she was inside him as he fed on her.  
   
   
She learnt a lot from him, and he still wanted her. That's why she was still there in this last torture, the last test.  In the cell with her was a beautiful sun-kissed blonde. Annais started to chat with the girl, who she said that her name was Helena;  she had been a prisoner for several days and she didn't know why. Annais noticed that she, was an ex-addict and that was why she was rejected early on in the procedures of torturing people to be vampires, so Helena was cattle now, her first feed. If Annais didn't do this, she would die with the first sun, she had the night to prove she could or die.  
   
   
Annais knew the hunger was growing in her. If she tried to turn the blonde girl, as she had been turned, she would not survive the sun. What to do then? The key? Maybe she could force the door...No she was too weak.  
   
   
She remembered Brian Holmes, the boyfriend of the other girl. So she visualized herself and the girl in danger and tried to reach his mind, but to no avail. Maybe that was a power she didn't gain? Or maybe she was too weak for that as well, how could she possibly know? She was so tired.  
   
   
Then she determined what to do...she would survive and she will try to save the girl, but this was not a sure thing so she decided to explain the whole scenario to her, and she accepted.  
   
   
Annais was as tender a lover as the others were cruel and when the girl, Helena, reached her orgasm she fed on her just as Helena had asked her to. It was intoxicating; the new vampire could feel all of Helena’s life flowing into her and Annais made a life for them in her mind. Stretching time was so good she lived a complete life with Helena until they were old and happy. She asked her then...  
   
   
"Do you want to be with me forever?"  
   
   
"No, my love, this lifetime as a human at your side was all I wanted, I don't want to be turned into one of them. Please don't forget me, my lovely Annais," she said while closing her lovely eyes, wrinkled now with age.  
   
   
And Annais understood that this was her last night as a human. But Helena gifted her a human's life and partner and she would never forget. So she didn't give her blood but a loving last kiss while she expired in her arms.

  
   
   
She dressed Helena after she died, kissed her temple, closed her eyes and took a curl of her hair into her pocket. Then she waited.  
   
   
The day came and went and when night arrived. James was there, took her hand, and complimented her handiwork.  
   
   
"Well done baby, I knew you would be precise and clean, not passionate and foolish like Irene, who cried for the human cattle turned to ash. She tried to turn her, you know?" said James with an evil wink and disdainful flick of his hand.  "She has her beauty all the same, but I love you: precise, logical and clean. You will be extraordinary!"  
   
   
Annais stayed by James' side as he wanted her, detached as a doll. He never asked for passion or love; she was incapable of giving it to him. He trained her as an assassin and she could give that to him, keeping her inner self deeply hidden in her mind..Her job had its perks because the more she knew, and the less he knew of her, the better. She was strong and so fast, she could jump great distances and she loved to run in the night. But while she had no power to read minds without feeding, she had a great power to block others, and stretch time while feeding.

   
James never could enter her mind after all, which intrigued him no end, but he never drank her blood again to learn what he couldn't read from her. Maybe he liked her like that; cold, precise and untouchable. The truth was that she was never cold, had never been, but only kept her feelings hidden.  
   
   
Stretching was second nature for Annais, like being able to run as fast as James, but James could read minds, except hers, and she can’t read no one, if she didn’t used the stretching ability. As James never feed on her again, they were a mystery to each other, and that was fine with her, and apparently so with James.  
   
   
She killed all the criminals out there who had become a problem for James and she was ordered to kill, feed on them and leave them cold without second thought -- and dispose of the bodies cleanly.  
   
   
James never knew what she did with the innocent ones she was sent to kill. Annais stretched the time for them, loved them and always gave them the choice, but they never took it. They preferred a human life with her, than a life at her side as a killer, she understood their wishes and she cherished them. She dressed them after, closed their eyes and kissed their temple. Annais took a lock of their hair. After that she buried these innocents as if they had been real husbands or wives, lovingly placed in specially chosen ground.   
   
   
   
James never asked questions about how she did her cleaning.  If James suspected she did anything differently when he asked her to kill an innocent instead of a criminal, he didn’t mention it.  He knew for sure that she always was precise and clean either way.  
   
   
She learnt a lot those decades, because she absorbed by stretching and reading all the skills of the criminals she killed. She learnt too, all that her lovers would willingly teach her. Annais never took from a partner; she gave and received, because she loved and she was loved a lifetime, in a night.  
   
   
   
Life was like that until Sherlock Holmes came.

 

 

 

   
   
 

 

 


	2. 'Before Sherlock, before Moriarty there was the old echo of John Watson...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **General summary:** The Holmes family had being hunting the rogue vampire, Moriarty, for centuries. Little by little he had been taking the world into his web but now the Vampire Council has sent "The Sword and The Healer" to resolve the situation. Meanwhile, London was rearranging itself to receive a new wild card, Sherlock Holmes.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Chapter summary:** Once upon a time Janus Sextus decides to be John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful betas and friends Mildred_bobbin and Mojoflower!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warnings for the chapter:** Britain's and Roman's history, het, slash, vampires, vampires and hunters, poor humans don't know a thing. John is a Bamf and had a plan.
> 
>  
> 
> \-------------------------------------------
> 
> **Author Notes:**  
>  Vampires have more powers than just the Glamour of the new vampiric stories; but these came at a price, resulting in certain quirks unique to each Clan bound by Blood.
> 
>  
> 
> From the Masquerade (of the Wizard of the Coast roleplaying game) I will borrow 5 clans, but merge them into 3:  
> the Gangrels, the Malkavians-Bruja and the Ventrue-Tremere. (see more notes at the end of the prologue).
> 
> The Mirrorworld is the name the vampire gives to their society, because they hide from human awareness in plain sight.
> 
>  
> 
> (More about the world at the end.)

'Before Sherlock, before Moriarty there was the old echo of John Watson...'

**Chapter One**

**Britain, sometime during the Third century AD.**

 

Janus Sextus, he was called then, after his father, a retired Centurion, Primus Pilus, from the Roman Empire who had served against the Caledonian and awarded land in Cambria. His mother was from this land, the daughter of a savage, as the Romans called her race. He was educated in the Roman's way and in some of his mother’s Celtic traditions. And once he was older he decided to follow his father steps and become a soldier, so left his parents’ estate, his sister and brother, and went to the wall of Adrianus.

 

Janus ended up being the Optio of the Sextus Centurion at the Wall. There was a lot of movement of the Picts from the Antonius Wall and he wanted to protect his family from their assaults. The Picts were fighting well into the south of the country in the late years.

 

Janus didn't know then that this decision would lead him to an eternity of blood and fighting and walking upon the earth. This was nothing more than the end and the beginning.

 

He was the leader of his legion and had been a soldier for ten years when they came like a force of nature. They fought, defending the wall till the end, until he heard before he felt the swift whistle of a Picts' spear and then everything went black.

 

When he was captured he learnt the Picts, like other people of the land, were not savage or evil, were only different. Their woman healer fed him, nurturing him back to health. She and others helped him escape and he was accepted into another Briton clan where he learnt many things like magic, herbs and healing. But his destiny wasn't with the people of the land either.

 

One night in the forest collecting herbs, he found his destiny in the form of a beautiful woman, who read his future and took him to her cave. She was not a witch, but a vampire, and she had chosen him long since as his companion and kin. He recognized her as the first woman healer who nurtured him but now without the Pict painting on her face.

 

He passed every ordeal she put to him to, and then he was turned into one of her clan: The Gangrels.

 

She mentored him about how to feed without killing a human, how to fight using his new vampire powers, how to heal with them and taught him about his curse. Janus could only feed from sinners. The blood of innocents was vile and sour for him, and it couldn't nourish him. But now he could also see inside the hearts of men and women and tell them apart.

 

He also learnt about 'The Stretching' the ability all vampires possessed to stretch time while feeding from a human; making them forget, learning about their past, changing their past and memories, making an entire life and memories for the vampire and the human while feeding, stretching even through centuries, and how to extract information too, using this power.

 

They were together for a good fifty years; Janus loved Kol, his teacher, sire and lover, but travel was in their veins so they left Britain with Constantine, who left proclaimed as emperor in 306 AD fighting his way through the empire against his enemies. Janus and Kol were there fighting as his side, and using his skills as healers and it was exhilarating, to witness what was clearly momentous times for Rome. Also feeding in battle, for Janus, was something without compare.

 

They stayed in Rome for some years, learning about the changes in vampire society and Roman medicine, but they were bored after some time and started to travel.

 

They went through the entire world until they reached the end of the Roman empire, the beautiful Constantinople where they fought against the Persians.

 

Finally Kol presented him to her clan, which was established in Persia at the time, and she left.

 

After some years he travelled into the Persian world and learnt about their customs and medicine, and about the vampires there. He travelled as far as the Empire of China and the Mongols and he fought in more wars and learnt more about what the human world and the Mirrorworld had to offer.

 

He didn't know when it would happen with him and his clan, but Kol had said to him that, at some point he would be of age to be called as a younger of the council of his people, The Grangrel. 

 

Time flies when you are free between wars. He took some lovers here and there but he never was up for a real companion. He hadn't noticed but he was 100 years old as a vampire and his clan called for him.

 

He didn't want to be a politician or the watcher of some territory of course, but when he was called upon by the Oracle and he was given his role in the clan, he attended. The Oracle saw through him, seeing his hidden self, so she declared before the council, where Kol was smiling at him:

 

"He will be _'The Vengeance and The Sword, as he will be The Healer’_."

 

So from then on he was the assassin of his clan. He killed the sinners, the enemies, and the rough killers between the vampires. And he was granted his freedom to travel and learn and sire if he wanted to without question. Siring could be a burden, though, because Janus would be held accountable for the actions of his progeny, in addition to being responsible for their protection. Janus really didn't have much choice; he preferred this to a seat in a council, so he took his fate and the little freedom it gave him. He chose instead to wander the world free, and alone.

 

He would continue to learn the ways of healing for humans and vampires. And he would take his assignments and fulfill them.

 

Janus was really good in his job; maybe the Oracle was not so far from the truth. And his assignments were always really evil people or careless new vampires who were killing humans and exposing the existence of their race.

 

Janus never felt the need to sire. But he learnt more about healing humans and vampires, and to kill in every possible way, and he used his abilities in the wars which came upon the earth.

\-------------------------------------------

**Afghanistan, 2009**

 

When Janus returned to Britain in the XV century he changed his name to something more in keeping with the modern times. Because he felt himself part of the islands more than any other place in the world he chose a British name, close to his Latin one: John. It was a good name and common enough that he would have no need to change it for some time. 

 

John did not care so much for politics, but he was there when Elizabeth the First was crowned. He never had liked the Bruja much and not long into her reign she made the Malkavian and the Bruja one clan to rule over London. She had a Bruja lover, everybody knew, one of the reasons she never married, but she never wanted to be a vampire herself. So John did the obvious thing, he went with the Pirates to travel into the new world. That had been a fascinating couple of centuries. In the XVII century John had been with the King and Queen of Portugal in Brazil, oh those were good years. Eating the evil clerics was good too.

 

Soon he would be in England, London, again. Up until now he had been at war for three or four years, he was a captain and a doctor. He was the commanding officer and they were scouting in Afghan sands, in a special operation unit that hadn’t officially been part of the military or existed since 1996; the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. He was placed there because of his skills, skills that, after all, he had been cultivating in special operations since before the Roman empire had finally fallen. But he was careful to never reach the upper level in the military, no more than Major or its equivalent; he was needed in battle after all.

 

He could feel that it would soon be time to leave the fusiliers and return to England to start his long awaited assignment. His sensed that his new mission, hunting down one of the most evil villains among the vampires, would be more than just a thrilling chase. Although he couldn’t predict the future, the thought that there was something more, something new, gave him hope; a cherished feeling long forgotten.

 

Then when he heard the helicopter approaching, John let his old wound from the Picts' spear bleed. 

 


	3. chapter 2, 'Power and Infatuation'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Meetings are not always according to plan...sometimes they are more dangerous.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author notes about this world at the end of the prologue.

**Warnings for the chapter:** Mycroft’s owns Britain, explosions and instant Johnlock love.

 **Betas:** My wonderful and fabulous friends Mojoflower and Mildred_bobbin You are awesome and I love you both!

 **Thanks:** To everybody who left kudos and bookmark you rock!

  


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**  
_'Meetings are not always according to plan...sometimes they are more dangerous.'_   
**

  


 

**Chapter Two**

**Afghanistan, 2009, Bastion Hospital Camp.**

 

John was visited in the campaign hospital by two 'people'. One was tall; he had the bearing of old money, education and power. He may have looked like a vampire Prince, but he was a human and not only that, in his eyes there was not fear or longing, but this man was human. His blood was rich with stories of vampire's blood, but his hands had no blood on them; his heart on the other hand, as John looked into his eyes, held plenty. This man must be the head of the hunting association in England at least. John winked at him, this was interesting already.

 

The other one: a vampire, comparatively young but old enough to handle himself and instill leadership and trust, even if he didn’t have that much power, he had a lot of potential. John didn’t need to _Scan_ this young man to know he was the leader of the clan Ventrue-Tremere in England. He was very like the human in several respects, the way they both held themselves, talked, etc. Really they could be sire and thrall.

 

"Gentleman, it is good to see you together, this will shorten 'the looking for the proper local authorities’ business in England. Now we can cut the pleasantries to names and get down to business. As you know my name is John Watson, Special Operations, clan Gangrel, your man for the next few years." John smiled at them and both of them seemed taken aback.

The first to talk was the prince, who scanned John as he asses him.

 

"My name is Sir Ian, read my mind for my codename, John." John heard clearly in his mind "The Ash.", John was amused by the nickname, but the flair of dramatics ran deep in the Ventrue clan.

 

"My real name is Janus if you want to know," said John, smiling at them.

 

"Thanks Janus,” said The Ash. As John considered the prince’s physical attributes, tall with blond hair and green eyes; he noticed that his sire was most definitely Clarice, she had a type. John still remembered her fondly.

 

"I am the head of Vampire Ops. But my residence is not in London, if you must know, it is Edinburgh. I will deliver my orders and Intel via other ops and Holmes here." The Ash rested his hand on the head of his bed.

 

"My name is Mycroft Holmes; I hold a position in the human British government as I am the President of the Hunter Association of England and Europe, and off course, honorary part of your council. I will be your direct chief in London, and as Sir Ian had established I will provide my Intel as well as his." Mr. Holmes rested his hands on a brolly, a bloody umbrella in the Middle East. John wondered if he had some kind of sabre in it.

 

"Glad to meet you gentlemen, now I need to know what my cover will be, where I’ll be staying in London and how I will approach the subject of our association with Mr Havoc Moriarty and his network." Both men agreed at the same time and seemed satisfied with themselves for some reason.

 

"You will live on an army pension in London with my brother, Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. He is not a hunter, even if he has all the qualifications; he is a genius, but he was a little lost some years ago, rehabilitated now. He is a private detective helping the Human NSY. and the Hunter Association when they are in need of his talents. He also takes some private cases. You will be staying there as my last attempt for protection of his person. He has a real problematic personality, and he had piqued the interest of Moriarty”. Mr. Holmes used his brolly a lot to make a point especially about his brother.

 

“You will be standing by his side as cover from Moriarty, but near to something he wants, and he really wants my baby brother for himself; Moriarty has some kind of fixation with our family. He had abducted and turned or persecuted to turn some members of my clan and killed several others. Apparently my Brother is his new obsession. You will be staying in connection with us. You will be hiding in plain sight and I expect with more opportunities to find him and eliminate him smoothly and traceless as possible." Mr. Holmes was trying to emanate coolness and detachment, but it was clear from his rigid posture that he was worried about the outcome.

 

"Your brother knows about our little project, Mr. Holmes?" Mr. Holmes shrugged and looked a little uncomfortable.

 

"No, he doesn't, we prefer he stays in the dark, Moriarty is very good at reading minds, also we don’t want Moriarty to discover that you’re a vampire and on our side. So Sherlock, must be blind to your vampiric nature. Because of Moriarty we need Sherlock to keep you at his side, and because my brother loves to solve puzzles, piquing his interest about who you are, really it is the better option."

 

John could tell that Mr. Holmes' use of 'we' was a loose interpretation. Meaning that he likely was the only one who wanted John to play bodyguard 24/7 to Sherlock: a personal extra tacked on to the larger assignment of bringing down Moriarty. Mr. Holmes was certainly amusing; he was not even trying to hide the fact.

 

He decided to Scan the guy and saw how his brother would react to this plan of Mr. Holmes’: not so well apparently. He looked deeper and saw a possible connection, and a solution, Mike Stamford.

 

"Sir Ian, Mr. Holmes, I like the idea of my cover but I think I have a better idea for introducing myself to Sherlock Holmes, without any suspicion. But I will need your authorization and one powerful Tremere to do it."

 

They listened to him and finally they accepted his plan and put it into action. 

 

Every plan has a flaw. And what John Watson never anticipated when he was finally "introduced" to Sherlock Holmes at Barts was that for the first time in his long life, he wished someone to be his. Sherlock Holmes was stunning, not only because he was beautiful, but because he was bold and amazing, his mind was something to behold, someone to cherish and immortalize. Sherlock Holmes was also a pain in the arse, dangerous and a liability. So John was doomed.

  


\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


  
**London, later in 2009.**

 

Sherlock was sure that his last experiment had been completely safe, so the explosion was totally unexpected. The stupidity of his landlord was not. Sherlock decided that even if the whole affair sounded strange to say the least, getting out of Montague Street would be the best outcome. It was far away from the center of London, it was a really tiny flat and he needed space, so even if he would have to share with a flatmate, anything would be better than staying where he was. He decided to visit his old client list.

 

Mrs. Hudson was doing really well now that she was finally back on her feet and had recovered her house and received the money from the legal system. She welcomed him with a hug, tea and biscuits. She was very receptive to his offer, and she said he could move in tomorrow. But he would still require a flatmate, which would be a problem. She hugged him again, and told him that having a hunter near her was a blessing, that he had to eat more and take care of himself, and the whole mothering speech. But he hugged her back because it felt natural and he came back to his old flat to break his lease, pay extra for the damage of the explosion and pack

 

Everything went according to plan, the only problem remaining was to find a partner for the flat. Mike Stamford was the person for the task, he was well known for his empathy with people and for his extensive list of friends and acquaintances. So Sherlock went to Barts and casually broached the subject with him, mentioning how difficult it would be for him to find a flatmate.

 

Within the space of less than five hours, Mike returned with a retired soldier, who was also a doctor. He was very attractive, in spite of his unassuming bearing and clothes. But, Sherlock thought, there was something about him, he was so much more Sherlock couldn't identify. His eyes were so deep that Sherlock thought for a moment that here was a puzzle he would gladly solve again and again, always finding new pieces. Sherlock Holmes did the best he could to remain cool, after the inevitable compromises he made to the man for tomorrow at 221B for their meeting the next day. 

 

Sherlock escaped, this time, to run for his riding crop and from the new feelings escaping from his chest and trying to control him. But he was uncomfortably aware that he could probably never run from John Watson again.

  


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Sherlock thought a lot that night. About a lot of subjects he never allowed himself to dwell on. Like what this army captain and doctor had to make him so entranced? Clearly his awful clothing was not a reason, but even that was strange; that the clockwork soldier, adrenaline driven, impossible mixture between impossible wisdom and impossible dimness; charming, caring healer and feral murderous creature as he was a warrior, wore those kinds of jumpers. It must be part of a disguise, and one that fooled everyone, even partially fooled Sherlock, into thinking this army doctor was someone harmless and ordinary. But some other part of Sherlock’s mind was telling him dangerous and beautiful and brilliant. Sherlock had never felt this way for anyone before. It was exhilarating and maybe tomorrow would coming too late.

 

Sherlock put his hands under his chin and let his mind classify his whole library again to better occupy the new space in his flat, he also decided to ask for some groceries delivered, like tea, milk and maybe jam and honey, some bread? So there was something to eat when John Watson arrived. He would talk with Mrs. Hudson about it in the morning. His thoughts went back to John's eyes, and the danger hidden there.

 

The next day Sherlock was really nervous but using his leather gloves was a great solution. Feeling John’s actual flesh would have been too much sensory overload, considering the problem he had with thinking processes and keeping his gaze from being permanently glued to John Watson's shifting eyes.

 

Fortunately he was saved by Lestrade. The Detective Inspector called and got him the best present ever: a serial killer who made a mistake. But John was needed at his side; he tried to find an obvious way to assure it. Because...because, he is a Doctor! A warrior doctor who had seen visceral things, so knows about death himself, that it is the perfectly plausible excuse.

 

"Do you want to see some more?" said Sherlock smiling invitingly.

 

"Oh god yes!" said John with an easy big smile in his face. 

 

And after saying goodbye to Mrs. Hudson they ran for the first time into the night, looking for a cab.

  


\----------------------------

  


The cab ride was filled with Sherlock’s reasoning behind his deductions about John the day before, about the war, his medical career and also about his falsified life, his studies. And between the lines, John could see that Sherlock saw something of Janus, which made something inside him very greedy for this human.

 

But his good mood didn't last long. After they arrived to Lauriston Gardens they were rudely greeted by a petite woman with chocolate skin who started to insult Sherlock on sight.

 

Sherlock presented the human as Sergeant Donovan, but this social nicety didn't deter her unjustified bad manners towards Sherlock. Her attitude made John lose his temper, for the first time in a decade. John looked at her soul and made her stop and obey him. She would behave around Sherlock and himself and she would behave politely and friendly like a police officer must, from now on in their presence or even when thinking about them.

 

Donovan closed her mouth, smiled at them and let them enter the police tape and lead the way to the correct house. Calling her boss, Donovan alerted him of the arrival of the consultant and his colleague.

 

Sherlock seemed bemused by her new found politeness, but he shook his head and confronted Anderson as always while Donovan blushed and tried to make her lover shut his mouth, to no avail.

 

John smirked at Sherlock for his brilliant snarking comment to the human as they entered their first crime scene together.

 


	4. Part 3 'Knowing me, Knowing you...Through a Scarlet Mirror.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is really Gregory Lestrade? and how can ASIP can be twisted if you put some Werewolves, a couple of Vampires and Hunter consultive detective in it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for the Chapters:** Spoilers for The Study in Pink, but had a lot of changes; some 16th century history changed by the Mirror World: Elizabeth the First, The East India company, and The emergence of the Privateers.
> 
> I want to thank all of you for your kudos and your comments you are making me very happy!  
> The next chapter is wrote and in beta!  
> I love you my betas MojoFlower and Mildredandbobbin
> 
> *********************************************************************

**Chapter Three**

**'Your Power Blind My Eyes, But Warm my Heart'**

****

  


London, New Scotland Yard. 2003.

  


Gregory Lestrade ex-leader of the clan Bruja was now reduced to nothing more than a babysitter. He, who had been responsible for bringing the Malkavian-Bruja clan to rule over London, was now in charge of keeping an eye on the current evil Malkavian prince's love interest, Sherlock Holmes.

 

Gregory wondered when, exactly, had he changed from being the lover of Elizabeth the First of England, to a simple DI of The Met in the service of a madman, James Moriarty.

 

It is true that it was never his idea to take the Ventrues out of the picture for good, but at the time it seemed like a good idea; the Bruja clan was always the muscle, the bodyguards, and he’d wanted more for his kin.

 

Maybe it had more to do with his being in love with Elizabeth. Too occupied in the court and organizing Her Majesty’s Privateers, to really see what was happening in the Mirror world.

 

He had been young and reckless and wanted everything and wanted it right at that moment. The young Malkavian's speeches sounded good to the oppressed Bruja's ears then, and to the leader of the Malkavians, the good naive Alastor, who thought the same. When Moriarty burned Alastor alive one century later no one saw it coming.

 

Moriarty wasn't as powerful then as he is now, no one opposed to him fought too much against him, and really, the majority didn't care at the time. When they really understood what it meant to have Moriarty as a Prince and the leader of their clans, it was too late. By then he was so powerful that to be opposed to him now implied a death wish, or worse. Vampires had never feared worse until then.

 

Gregory fell from his pedestal when Elizabeth died. He was so devastated that he went to work for the East India Trading Company for a century and a half. When he came back in the last year of the XVII century, and saw how everything had turned out it was too late. He stayed, he did, because he loved England and he thought that he could do more for his people, there, than if he was abroad. Sebastian Moran an ex-pirate was the one in charge of his clan now, he was the right arm of the Prince.

 

But Moran had a lot of work to do for the Prince’s criminal organization in Europe so it was not so difficult for Gregory to regain his leadership again for a couple of centuries. Trying to save his people was the thing which lead Gregory right to this point in time.

 

How much Lestrade despised Moriarty nobody knew, except perhaps the Holmeses and Moriarty himself, but apparently this knowledge amused the prince to no end. The wicked bloody bastard had the ability to _Scan minds_ after all.

 

All the same, Moriarty wouldn’t stand for insubordination and Lestrade was tortured for a couple of decades and finally sentenced to lose his fangs and his progeny. He would have more difficulty feeding from now on and he would be alone, because he would be unable to sire anymore.

 

Moriarty then forced him to occupy a human position as a Yarder, an agent, a cleaner for Vampires in the human world. Fortunately for him, blood in bags was a real option in the second half of the twentieth century and he could fake being human very well: he was old enough.

 

He had taken some human lovers through the years, but no one really to his liking. He was afraid to be attached as he couldn't sire anymore. If this wasn't more evil than death, to be the jester of the mad Prince, he didn't know what could be. Moriarty had Greg under heavy surveillance, so he had no chance to escape.

 

Then Moriarty came to him with a side job. Lestrade knew about the Holmes family and Elsie Holmes. He had tried to reach the Hunter Association for help against the Prince before, during the late XIX century, before he and his renegades were cut down by Moriarty. Elsie was a legend even alive, and so beautiful, he saw her a couple of times: she was white as marble, perfect heart shaped lips and a cascade of ebony black curls, but her eyes were the most amazing thing about her. He was a little besotted himself with her beauty, her intelligence, strong will and the force of nature that was this woman’s personality. No doubt every vampire in existence had his eyes on her, Moriarty wanted her more, but he was never able to win her. She was brilliant and perhaps the daughter of the goddess Diana, because it was totally impossible to get her or outwit her. And when she finally died she had made the hunters and the Holmes family unreachable too.

 

Lestrade never thought he would see someone like her again, less so Elsie Holmes apparently split and living in two bodies. But allow some time for the genetic pool and souls to rearrange themselves and there the trick was done in front of him, his new ward, the youngest of the Holmes and one half of Elsie Holmes reincarnated.

 

Sherlock was a vivid copy of the beautiful Elsie, only the gender and Sherlock’s extraordinary cheekbones, sharp where Elsie’s face had been a soft and gentle oval, were different. He embodied the brilliance and the force of nature he remembered. But the strong will, the master planner Elsie had epitomised, was not present at all in this young and brilliant addict-detective to be, it was in the man who came to bail him free later on, the brother, Mycroft Holmes.

 

As Lestrade came to know Mycroft Holmes over time, he found he was more like his Elizabeth than Elsie, Gregory was absolutely fucked up. He had fallen, not only for a Holmes, but THE Holmes, the one who was the leader of the Hunter Association, who was escalating the British human government. Yes he was in love with Elizabeth all over again, but it was in the form of a really handsome, powerful man who had England at the mercy of his umbrella.

 

Protecting the young genius was double agent work now. Moriarty had tasked him with the job and he had accepted because Moriarty 'had him by the horns, or the tooth', so he had to watch Sherlock, but he knew that the evil prince had nothing good in the future for the lad. But now Mycroft who didn’t know he was a vampire asked him for the same thing. What was Gregory supposed to do now? Take care of the brilliant mad junky kid of course; if Sherlock wanted to be a private detective he needed to be sober.

 

Mycroft Holmes was out of his reach because he was a hunter, and a formidable enemy of his owner Moriarty. What was he thinking, falling in love with Mycroft!? ‘Forget about him Greg,’ he tried to tell himself through the nights that followed but without success.

 

Greg knew that the Holmeses were the enemy of Moriarty, his evil incarcerator, but if Mycroft Holmes was who Gregory thought he was, maybe he would be free sooner than he expected, maybe he could make a move...or he could die sooner. To do his job maybe was the best alternative for the moment.

 

Lestrade thought if this man had Elizabeth's soul, if his true love was really inside of him, then Mycroft will recognize him one of these days. Or maybe never. Hell even if he was only half of Elsie Holmes he wanted him. Either way a little flirting wouldn't do any more damage to his situation, and maybe...maybe.

 

Gregory laughed that night while sipping his blood bag, because destiny was a bitch.

  


*********************************************************************

  


**London, Lauriston Gardens, 6 years later.**

  


Gregory was waiting for Sherlock again. They could not make heads or tails of the case, and clearly there were not only humans involved in it.

 

The Met thought it was some kind of poison self-administrated by the victims, so suicide. Lestrade knew better, but the Mirror world had its rules, and this victim had left a note, a bloody note. Lestrade needed Sherlock to find the culprit behind these killings and then he needed to do some cleaning, depending on the outcome.

 

This had his Prince’s signature all over it, like the side games he was so fond of playing. There must be someone else to blame, the one actually killing these people. His boss never left any traces that led back to him directly, but lately he was getting bolder, and as a cleaner, this was making Lestrade’s life a misery.

 

What Lestrade never expected to hear was that Sally Donovan was happy to see Holmes and that he was bringing a special colleague too. When he reached the first floor he saw the same old Sherlock and close behind him a short man, with a charming smile, with something so familiar about him, something like déjà vu -- like someone you had seen before, a vampire? He recognised a strong force emanating from him. His mind started to look further for answers, but he felt foggy and dizzy for a moment...No, it was impossible -- this was only a human, nothing more. So Gregory shook his head trying to clear his mind and showed him the crime scene and promise to detain Anderson for five minutes for them.

  


*********************************************************************

John entered the house very amused by Sherlock and Anderson’s interaction, until he found himself in front of Sir Gregory Lestrade, clan Bruja, the lover of Elizabeth the First himself. What exactly could ‘He’ be doing posing as a human DI? Did he remember John?

 

John _scanned_ his mind and found out about his fall from grace at Moriarty's hand and his assignment as babysitter to the precious Sherlock. Also he didn't remember John, per se, but he recognized him in some way as vampire maybe. He made himself more unassuming and blurred in his mind. And thank the gods, that did the trick. He really didn't want to make a memory surgery more recognizable for Moriarty. He was just starting his undercover assignment and to be recognised as a player right away would be bad indeed. Lestrade had a good soul, John really hoped they wouldn’t have to fight each other in battle.

 

After the door was closed he looked at the scene in front of him. There was a woman lying on her stomach on the floor, dressed all in scarlet, her hair was brunette and she had a scarlet coat, and pumps. Her right hand and the nails on it,, which had been long and well manicured, were broken and her fingers were bloody, because she had used them to carve some letters on the wooden floor.

 

She seemed young to John, maybe middle 30's, she had decent taste, even with that amount of scarlet on her; she was fashion coordinated. She made John remember a beautiful long scarlet dress of 1874 on a beautiful French vampire, but now days, the color was unusual, especially that much.

 

John focused on Sherlock and his beautiful mind at work in front of him, analysing every little detail on the woman's clothes, the state of her jewelry, the soil in her pumps, her fingers, the state of her pantyhoses. It was so fast, so dynamic and so full of brightness. Sherlock was fascinating to _scan_ while deducing, how he accessed his mind for answers to the visuals, the little clues before him, the odours. John was more besotted by the minute.

 

"John, tell me, what do you see?" John had to come back down to earth. 

 

The problem was that John saw too much. The woman there was not human; she was a werewolf. She had been shocked to death, by magical means, using silver which was poison to a shapeshifter. What should he say?

 

"The woman died by Asphyxiation with some kind of poison, it was not a drug. She died in the last five hours, there are no traces of physical struggle except for her nails which are damaged because she used them to carve the floor."

 

"Oh John, I see that you know something more, but our time is up, here comes Lestrade."

 

Sherlock explained to Lestrade about the woman, her career, her marriage, her side life as an adulterer and about the missing suitcase. The note, of course, was important too:

 

"Were\"

 

"Anderson thought it stood for beware, but I'm sure you will disagree," Lestrade prompted.

 

"You know he is an idiot, it had to do with the victim. So the suitcase is vital, but there was nothing here. Where is it?"

 

"There is no suitcase, Sherlock, never was." Sherlock left the room in a flash and ran to the staircase.

 

"Sherlock, you didn't tell me anything! Come back here or you know I will be coming for you!" Lestrade had lost his cool. His eyes were severe and he was almost crushing the bannister.

 

"I need the suitcase, because the killer made a mistake and you lot are too stupid to notice anything. See you Lestrade." Sherlock felt so alive and full of light with the challenge, that John didn't realise that he was leaving.

 

"Sherlock, I mean it, I will come and get you!" Lestrade sounded really pissed, so John took note to not make him angry just yet. Suddenly Lestrade seemed to recall what Sherlock had said and shouted after him, “What mistake?”

 

“Scarlet, red!” yelled Sherlock at Lestrade, eyes big and looking almost like he was about to jump from happiness.

 

Sherlock ran down the staircase with John behind him, trying to be human about it, but that was too slow, he had already left.

 

Afterwards Donovan gave him directions about where Sherlock was and recommended he try fishing as a hobby. John reinforced his order about being nice about Sherlock, because clearly it didn't work properly the first time; this woman had some character. And he left her to pursue Sherlock by sensory flow alone. Finally John found him in an alley where he was looking in the garbage.

 

Sherlock found the suitcase, which was as scarlet as everything the woman was wearing. Inside her wardrobe everything was similar in fashion in red tones. A real paper diary and no phone.

 

"John now, stop your act and tell me you see what I see?"

 

John was really worried at this point but Sherlock was unreadable, and he couldn’t dig further without leaving a print.

 

"I am not a brilliant detective, Sherlock, so please you have to explain to me what you are talking about?"

 

"Oh my god, I really must explain it to you. Well you are not only an army captain and a doctor. You are a doctor for the Hunter Association, not the one here but in the war?" It was not really a question.

 

John could never have been happier for being misread, and for the brilliance of this man. He figured out that John knew more about the crime scene, and the way he found out. So he thought the obvious: not Mirror world as a possible answer, but the Hunter Association.

 

"You are amazing, you know that!" John couldn't take his eyes off the beautiful being across from him.

 

"You say that, like I really...thanks, I suppose is the thing to say," Sherlock was flushed and looked more beautiful to John, if that was possible.

 

John took some air he didn't need and continued. "This conversation must continue in another place, but you are right, I was recruited abroad, so I have no registration here. So I think you are a Consultant Hunter?"

 

"I think this conversation is better had at home, come along."

 

"But what about the suitcase? It’s evidence for the police."

 

"John you are so...tediously moral. This will take time and we need to find the murderer."

 

John was feeling a little angry now.

 

Sherlock snapped, "Ok, ok, but we keep the diary until we find out more about the 'victim'." He was actually pouting a little and John wondered if Sherlock even noticed he was doing it.

 

John was not sure about that, but the compromise sounded good enough so he smiled at him, and Sherlock smiled in return.

 

Sherlock took the diary and put it in his pocket while he passed the suitcase to John. In the street there was a yarder approaching on a motorcycle. Sherlock was about to hit him with a little rock to call his attention, but John decided it was better the old fashion way; with a loud whistle.

 

The policeman stopped and Sherlock sent the suitcase flying to him.

 

"Here, it's evidence from the Lauriston Gardens case, we found it minutes ago there in the garbage in that alley. Deliver it to DI Lestrade with regards from Sherlock Holmes."

 

Before the yarder could say a word, a cab magically appeared from nowhere and they were running for it.


	5. 'Of Domesticity, Invasions  and Clues...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John get to know more about Sherlock, his world and how deep the rabbit hole goes in the gray of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thanks all of you for your support! I'm sorry about the tardiness but i have no special schedule, because my awesome betas and I have kids and Husbands, and they write their own stories too. so sorry about that. But i can tell you that I just finished writing chapter six. YAY!! 
> 
> In the next chapter i will talk more about the werewolves so i think i will do some notes about them too.
> 
> Thanks to my awesome betas MojoFlower and MildredandBobbin and all of you for your kudos, your comments and your bookmarks :)
> 
> *********************************************************************

**Chapter four**

 

****

**London, late 2009, Baker Street, 221B**

 

 

They laughed in the cab all the way back to 221B. When upstairs, John set himself to making tea, while working on the new identity he would reveal to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock went to refresh himself and then he sat and started to rummage through the diary. John glanced at him while looking for mugs and teaspoons. How someone could look so sensual with those long fingers and luxurious little curls just sitting there reading the paper, John had no clue. He was taken out of his reverie when the water was ready.

 

"How do you like your tea?" John asked, trying to be casual about it.

 

"Two sugars and milk, please." Of course his voice must be pure sex too.

John decided to take him some chocolate biscuits and honey, because Sherlock ate too little. And he sat at his side on the sofa.

 

"So, you are a consulting detective and hunter too, then?” said John in a soft voice sipping his tea, taking the initiative.

 

"In a way. I'm the only one in the world, I invented the job. I was raised in one of the oldest and most powerful lines of hunters in England and of course I’ve been fully trained since childhood. But it is so dull, the idea of hunting vampires or doing research about vampires and other Mirror creatures, John. Mycroft wanted me to join the Hunter Association's bureaucracy just like he did, and that was worse. My elder brother Sherrinford is a hunter and he has lived with my uncle, Brian Holmes since his twenties." Sherlock really seemed ill with the mere idea of being a hunter, and for John it was harder and harder to really listen to him and not get lost in the mercurial eyes which were drilling into his.

 

"I've loved criminology and puzzles since childhood, for which I have been ostracized by members of my own family. All except for Mummy, and Mycroft, who always thought he could convince me otherwise. I finally wound up studying chemistry and biology in Cambridge but I never finished it and did several credits that interested me. Finally I made a career for myself as a consultant. So when the Yard is out of their depth, which is always, they call me; and if it is interesting I help to resolve it for them." John couldn't keep himself from smiling at that.

 

“If the Hunter Association is out of its depth which is also often, they consult me and I see if it piques my interest enough to help." Sherlock talked almost like this was rather dull; but nothing about Sherlock was dull, and having to guard a reluctant but trained hunter was not bad considering the dangers they will be facing.

"I think that is a really interesting choice of career." John's eyes glittered with excitement.

 

Sherlock looked at John, somewhat surprised. "Do you think so? Then you are the first. Now John, tell me the truth. What did you see back at Afghanistan? What are you really?"

 

Those eyes would be the death of John for sure, he really wanted to take him now, pin him to his seat, kiss him fiercely and finally bite him. But he smiled charmingly instead.

 

"In the war you see too many things Sherlock. As a doctor and as a soldier, I had to tend wounds that were not made by humans, and care for wounded that were not very human either. In the end, you learn to forget about labels and to think more along the lines of people, enemies and allies, good and evil." Sherlock didn't need to know all the truth.

 

Sherlock was looking at him, fascinated, and gods, this did not help with his growing need to take him. He looked so beautiful, with his eyes filled with interest and his pupils so big in that grey canvas.

 

"So yes, Sherlock I can recognise a shapeshifter when I see one, and I saw my quota of vampires and some other things, things ordinary people don't believe exist on the earth." John looked at him _scanning_ the surface of Sherlock’s thoughts. He only saw interest there.

 

A big smirk crossed Sherlock’s face as he was deeply satisfied with this half truth. John was as well and also very fascinated by the human.

"I knew it, then John, how about you tell me about the woman, for real this time?"

 

John sighed but with a little smile in his eyes. "She was a werewolf, that was exactly what she was carving in the floor as a warning to her kind. And she was poisoned with silver. It was a murder."

 

"John you are brilliant! Yes, she was a werewolf who disguised herself as a human, occultism fanatic for her work as a journalist on the subject, very clever woman, really refreshing. And the pill had silver and poison sure enough, making the werewolf incapable of metabolizing the poison and choking the victim at the same time. The murderer is also a clever one, which make all this exercise interesting.” Sherlock was smiling at John with all his being, his eyes shining, John was captivated.

 

“About you, John, I would love to hear your stories, when you have time to tell me, your experience in the field treating shapeshifters especially. But now we will concentrate on the journal." Sherlock dismissed him taking the journal and forgetting about him.

 

After ten minutes of silence, while John tried to understand the sudden change in the detective’s demeanor: "John keep up, will you? Go fetch your things, we don't need to waste time, we will be needing to chase some criminals later. I will text you if I need you sooner." 

 

Sherlock, without lifting his eyes from the journal, made a dismissive motion with his hand. John wanted to growl at that, but really there was no more time to waste. This case smelled of something Mr. Havoc would do in his spare time to settle things with shapeshifters. Better to talk to Mr. Hunter Association about it.

 

When he was a safe distance from the flat he phoned Mycroft Holmes while looking at one of the CCTV cameras. 

 

"Dr. Watson, how are things going with My brother?" John wondered why Mycroft was stressing the word _my_. It was almost as if Mycroft were psychic, and emphasizing that Sherlock was _his_ baby brother; warning John against the possessive feelings he was beginning to harbor for the detective. Or perhaps it was just John being paranoid.

 

"I need you to meet me or send someone for me at my bedsit, I need information about werewolves in London and Moriarty's policies about them. Also I need to move my things to 221B, a van would be enough, and a car if the van has too many people."

 

"The car awaits you at the corner of Baker Street on your right, to take you to your current residence. The information will come with my assistant who will meet you there. Until we see each other Doctor."

 

"Good night to you too, Mycroft." It was really difficult remember this guy was not really a Ventrue.

 

John reached the corner and he entered the black sedan which left him at his bedsit. The human in a black suit followed him upstairs to ‘help him out’ as he put it.

 

The bulkiest thing in John's possession, now that he was in a city, was a mini freezer, for his blood bags. It was camouflaged as a tall wooden chest. He really didn't need the blood too much, but passing as a human, he needed more feeding in order to fool vampires. His other things were his soldier's duffle-bag with his clothes, a bag with his only suit, a laptop and a suitcase where his guns were hidden and assorted things which easily filled only a box.

 

There wasn’t any problem with the bedsit either, because the lease was only till that week, and he had paid in advance. So when he and the suit had packed everything, he found himself with 'Anthea' the assistant who was downstairs with a black van. The man in a suit put John's things in the van and he and the assistant took the Sedan.

 

As John had thought, Moriarty’s policy about werewolves was changeable but he was not claiming this murders as his. So maybe this was a political goal disguised as a serial killing? It was clear to John that in London Werewolves were not treated as equals or at least, diplomacy was not Moriarty’s forte. John clearly wouldn't find Moriarty himself at the end of this investigation, but it would attract his attention for sure.

*********************************************************************

They reached 221B and John had just brought his things into the house when a text arrived on his phone.

 

"John come at once. SH."

 

"Sherlock! I'm downstairs. If you want me there, then come down and help me out!"

 

“Busy, come up I need you now, John!”

 

John wasn’t pleased, and he wasn’t having any of this so he took his camouflaged freezer and went upstairs, without looking Sherlock in the face at all. From the corner of his eye, John could see him laying on the sofa looking at the ceiling.

 

“John, good, come here, I need your phone.” John didn’t acknowledge Sherlock presence.

 

“John don’t be daft, I said that I need your phone, now.” John didn’t answer and put his freezer in his closet and plugged it in. He came out of his room and down the stairs, not looking at Sherlock.

 

“John, please can you pass me your phone. I need it.” Sherlock was exasperated but he asked more nicely.

 

“Until you help me, I won’t help you, that is fair, if we are going to be colleagues and flatmates. And Sherlock, what is wrong with _your_ phone, because you have one.”

 

Sherlock was on the verge of sulking. “For god’s sake, you can be really annoying, you know that, Captain Watson?”

 

Now John was almost grinning. “You are not the first insufferable git I have to deal with, and certainly you won’t be the one to break me.”

They looked at each other and started to chuckle and then laugh with all their might. John was never so at ease so early on in any kind of relationship in the past, and his past was extensive.

 

Sherlock and John went to the entrance and took the box, the dufflebag and the suitcase and left it in John’s new room in a single trip.

 

“Where are your other things, John?” Sherlock asked honestly.

 

“This is all that I have. After a decade in the army you don’t have time to accumulate many possessions, precisely. Now, why do you need my phone, exactly?” John sat near Sherlock.

 

"To text, John, what else?" Sherlock was at the edge of the sofa.

 

"Sherlock, you have your own phone for texting. Why use mine?"

 

"My number is on my website, so it could be known. Yours is not. Here in her journal Jennifer has her number and I want to test a theory, I think the murderer has her phone, so when we text him he will panic and he will come to us," said Sherlock, winking at John.

 

John passed him the phone. They touched very lightly, but it was electric, both of them looked into each other’s eyes for some moments and then Sherlock took the phone roughly breaking the connection, to text the murderer. Then they got their coats and went to the restaurant Angelo's to wait for the killer.

 

After Angelo had winked at them and left them the candle, "More romantic", and John asked for carpaccio for himself and some cheese’s cappelletti for Sherlock, they took wine, looking at each other.

 

John decided to be direct. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

 

Sherlock, a little surprised, took a sip of his wine. "Not really my area."

 

"Boyfriend then? Which is alright by the way," said John flirtingly.

 

"I know it’s alright, but no, I haven't," he said nervously.

 

"That is good, because I have no boyfriend or girlfriend at the moment." John looked in Sherlock's eyes and time stopped, he could not know for how long, but suddenly the spell broke because a cab was there at that moment, at the exact point Sherlock had texted for the encounter.

 

"John hurry up!" Sherlock stood up, putting on his coat and scarf while running out, John took his coat and hurried out with him.

 

They couldn't catch the taxi before it drove away. So they started to run through staircases, down alleys and across rooftops but to no avail. Finally they reached it and a simple _scan_ was enough to tell it was the cabby and he was human. Sherlock thought it was the passenger and he was wrong, because it was some tourist. As John couldn't get him without evidence in front of Sherlock, John let the cabby go, for now, acting as if he had reached the same conclusion as Sherlock.

 

"Welcome to London."

*********************************************************************

They ran back to the flat, and found there none other than Sir Gregory Lestrade. John wasn't happy to find the vampire sitting in Sherlock’s chair, as if he owned the place.

 

"You couldn't wait until tomorrow morning Lestrade?" asked Sherlock. He sounded as angry as John felt.

 

"Good night to you, too, Sherlock. I received your package, thank you very much. Now give me’" he said while dancing his fingers on the arm of the chair.

 

Lestrade was expecting a case already solved for him, so all he had to do was plan out the cleaning. This was too much for John, who was losing his patience. Sherlock decided then, seeing the tension between them, that enough was enough and started talking.

 

"She was more clever than you for sure, Lestrade; she left her phone in his possession, so we could find him. I almost got him tonight. That's why there was no phone to be found in the suitcase or on her person." Sherlock was a little exasperated with their dimness.

 

"And the note?" asked Lestrade, exasperated. 

 

" _Werewolf_ the password of her phone” said Sherlock irritated. “She was a fanatic of the occult, vampires, werewolves and the lot, didn’t you see how much scarlet she used, and the book in her possession? How do you live your silly little life without really looking what it is before your nose?” 

 

Lestrade didn’t look happy with this treatment, but it was clear to John that he was used to it. “Then show me your genius Sherlock, where is the phone then?”

 

Sherlock was angry, but he took the laptop and typed in the appropriate site and the email of the woman and finally the password for the GPS location. After some minutes the GPS showed that the phone was in Baker Street.

 

“Sherlock, now what can you possibly tell me about that? You have it here?” said Lestrade raising an eyebrow.

 

“This is preposterous how...?” He stopped mid sentence, joining his hands under his chin.

 

Sherlock suddenly grunted, as if reprimanding himself and left the flat, walking down the stairs in a hurry. John and Lestrade followed him to the entrance of 221B. At the door was a scarlet iphone with a message. Sherlock raised the iphone in time for the others to reach him.

 

"What kind of antic is this Sherlock?" said Lestrade while gesticulating with his hands. "That thing was not here when I came in. Did you put it there?"

 

"No, Lestrade. John didn't either. Someone planted it here just now. In the time we talked, someone could have taken it easily. The human kind is not so noble to leave alone a new-model iphone in the street, for that long, especially if it is so colorful and easy to spot." Sherlock was irritable and pacing.

 

"Less so would I leave a phone with a message for myself with a picture of me entering my house from behind." 

 

Sherlock showed them the picture of the Consultant and John himself entering the flat and in the footnote it read "We will meet soon Mr. Holmes, very soon, you only need to look proper and right."

 

Lestrade was a little baffled "Sherlock I will send you some people to look after you tonight, clearly you are target now. Please take care of yourself while I organize the backup." Lestrade's demeanor had changed totally from demanding to worry in a second. He took the phone from Sherlock and stormed off to the left where his car was.

 

"John I need that phone, please ask Lestrade to give it to me for a quick inspection, before he carries it to the Met, hurry!" Sherlock sounded frantic.

 

John knew they were really close to the cabby, he tried to _scan_ the surface of Sherlock, but it was a storm of thoughts and he decided for now to go with the flow and went to find the Detective Inspector. "Sherlock, stay in the flat until I come back." Saying that John turned to the left.

 

When Sherlock was sure John was not watching him, he ran out and turned to the right.

 

 

 


	6. 'I Will Not Let You Down...Purpose of Mine.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Summary for the chapter:** Annais put on her best poker face before entering Moriarty's study. Some hours later Sherlock takes a cab.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Spoilers for Asip, Canon au, Moriarty is crazy. My best try in the cabbie's talk, really bad english, and worse, because is what i got of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to fabulous MildredandBobbin who was my sole beta in this chapter. MojoFlower my other friend beta is at a Sherlock con i hope she is having an amazing time, she deserve it!
> 
> And thanks for the head ups in french to Sebahme!
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter five**

****

'I Will Not Let You Down...Purpose of Mine.'

**Moriarty's Den, earlier 2009.**

Annais Fernand was used to the work. It usually involved cleaning some vampires, faes or humans that had fallen from grace in James's eyes. Her new assignment was a novelty. 

 

A human, a cabby, would be the executioner of some werewolves in order to make some political point of Moriarty clear, but without it tracing back to him. She had argued that she had never left a mark or clue leading to him, or her in the work. But James had been adamant, and final, and Annais was not prepared to fight him just to keep her pride.

 

So she had followed the cabby's choices of victims. Annais used her powers to dominate the Weres at some distance, so they followed the cabbie without protest to the place of the killings and the human did the rest.

 

The first had been a notorious business werewolf, an architect, who had worked for James. The second was a kid, that one she didn't understand, but she stayed in her post checking that everything went according to plan, so no one could link anything to the cabbie’s boss.

 

The third was a female in the government, a politician. And the fourth was also a strange choice, also female, a journalist, but no one of importance, a goth who worked with the occult or something. And there Annais had made a mistake. The werewolf left a carved note to warn her kind about the killings. James wouldn't be happy about it.

 

Annais put on her best poker face and entered his studio.

 

"So where were you exactly when that bitch decided to make doodles on the floor?" Moriarty shouted.

 

"I was ten meters away as always, boss. The problem was that stupid cabby let her do it, because he thought it was fun leaving a clue to the Yarders. I think we must finish him. He has started to act erratically and he is looking forward to meeting Sherlock Holmes next. I'm here asking for your permission to clean the operation."

 

James looked very interested at her report, and his humor was improving for some unknown reason.

 

"No, Annais, I like this little lab rat of ours, he has some _je ne sais quoi_ that amuses me, and you know things doesn't amuse me anymore. We will let him play one more round." Now James was positively grinning.

 

"Aren't you a little worried for your pet, Sherlock? He is only human, boss." Annais was worried, because if something happened to the guy it would be her fault for sure.

 

Moriarty dramatically put one hand to his mouth as he considered, and then his face contorted in anger. "NO!"

 

"No, no, no, and you know why not my beautiful doll?" he said while rising from his seat and standing much too near to Annais for her taste. "Because you will be there, _Ma chère_ taking care of him for me." James smiled at her with all his teeth showing, his canines extended, but his eyes seemed innocent. 

 

Annais instinct was to flee, but she stood her ground. "Of course James, I will take care of everything as usual." Her lips quirked into a small smile.

 

James pet her hair. "That’s my girl," he said while his face showed wickedness. "Now go and play with your toys, feed well, tomorrow you will have too much work to do any of that." 

 

James swirled around and reached his desk, dismissing her with his hand. She didn't need to be told and left at once.

 

Annais went to the kitchens. She doubted she would have sufficient time to hunt so she grabbed some blood bags to pack for some provisions and a meal. She went to get some rest for three or four hours before she had to go out again to follow the human cabbie.

 

Annais started to realise that James wanted to get caught by Sherlock and Sherlock alone and this cabbie was really an incentive. She would need all the energy she could muster for saving that little detective from himself before Jefferson Hope could kill him. Moriarty was sure to have more games prepared for his new favorite, and more stupid work for her.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**London, 221b Baker Street, several hours later.**

 

Sherlock had never felt so alive and happy than he did now with John Watson at his side, being at a crime scene with him, with his rapt attention. Then at the flat with his eyes piercing him, wondering about him, Sherlock wanted to be pinned at the door and ravished by John right there. But he needed to know everything about this man because there were layers upon layers upon layers, and he knew there was more there still. Sherlock was greedy with these new feelings that burned in his chest.

 

He had been a little afraid at the restaurant when John had drilled him with his eyes and so openly asked if he had a relationship. But the cab had arrived in time and then the chase had followed. Running through his London, pursuing suspects, even being wrong had never been so exhilarating.

 

And the case was spectacular, werewolves being targeted because of one thing in common, they worked in protecting the **‘Saint lines of power of the city’** ; which comes from, they believed, the mother earth, Gaia.

 

For shape shifters the planet was alive and had certain places where the magical force of the mother was more prominent and this power nurtured the Earth. So for some clans of shape shifters, especially Werewolves, this was like a crusade and the only reason several of them lived in the cities at all.

 

The victims were all activists in this mission: the first werewolf was an architect working in the protection and reconstruction of parks and botanic gardens around London. The second a female in the government, a Junior Transport Minister, trying to relocate large highways so it didn’t disturb more green environment. The third was a young cub, ecology activist, apparently he was very good hacker, an ability very rare in werewolves. And the fourth, Jennifer, was a journalist who work in the occult and promoting awareness about the evil of some industries like Pentex INC. Her diary gave him more in light of the connection between them all, and about how they were really trying to protect the points of power in London and in the places near the city.

 

All of these projects were in direct keeping with ‘Mother earth’ or shape shifters around the world protecting their numbers, and some magic power that supernatural beings used as a source of some kind. He must study more about alchemy and magic, apparently. Maybe Moriarty and his web were after the location of these points of power for some reason? He needed more data.

 

But there was something, always something amiss, and now it was a simple taxi driver. Why didn’t Sherlock see it right away? A cabbie hunted in the city in plain sight and everybody trusted intrinsically in the driver to take them to their destination. A cabbie would know a perfect location at any given time for the perfect murder; an abandoned place to kill and leave a body without being exposed.

 

Dwelling on his mistakes would not resolve the puzzle, so he must concentrate on the now.

 

Sherlock knew there were things he must do alone. When he read the message on the phone he knew. In one ten thousandth of a second he analysed every potential outcome so he sent John away and ran to the right where he knew the cab was and also the murderer. 

 

And here there was a man in his fifties. Short, white hair, unassuming, but his eyes now said a simple, different thing, they said I killed before and I will continue after I’ve dealt with you.

 

_"Cab, for Sherlock ‘olmes. I know all about you, an' I know you’ll came alone. Please enter."_

 

For a moment, Sherlock had the intention to correct the awful grammar of the man, but he really want to resolve the case, so he let it slip and enter.

 

"You have an advantage over me, I don't know your name, or where are we going," said Sherlock in a calm, even voice.

 

_"I'm Jefferson Hope, and we're gonna to a good quiet place, Mr. ‘olmes. We'll ‘ave a proper chat and you'll gonna kill yourself."_

 

Sherlock observed the cabby and his environment. There was a picture of a young girl, like fifteen years old and another woman apparently folded over on the photographic paper. There was a book about werewolves and another by Nietzsche in the passenger seat in the front.

 

"How did you get interested in Werewolves in particular? Something that happened in your family?" Sherlock tried to convey nothing of the curiosity he felt in his voice.

 

_"Dey said, you’ll try to be ol’ clever with me, you’ve got yourself a secret admirer you know?" The cabbie said nonchalantly._

 

"An admirer uh. And what did this person said to you about me?" asked Sherlock, really curious now.

 

_"E said your really somethin', I read your blog, dat was proper thinkin' alright, not like ol’ dat airhead we must put up ol’ day. So I said to meself, I' want to know this Sherlock ‘olmes, to see for meself." Hope grinned. "An' ‘ere you’re!"_

 

"Of course you are a clever man yourself. But why so interested in werewolves in particular, Mr. Hope?"

 

 _"Why not? They ar' not even humans! They don' count!"_ The cabbie was starting to get upset.

 

Sherlock soothed him because he wanted to know more, getting the man mad, wouldn’t help, so early in the game. "That is the truth, but in that case, why were you playing with lesser beings?"

 

 _"Mr. ‘olmes, they’re intelligent ol' right and dey are in the places humans must be, so dey’re fair play, and I gave ‘em a chance to win to ol' of ‘em. But I outwit 'em, just like I’ll outwit you  
Mr. ‘olmes."_ He was positively sure of what he was saying.

 

Sherlock looked at the windows, he knew where they were going, odd choice. There were better and faster ways to get to Rolland-Kerr Further Education College, but they arrived anyway.

 

The man showed him a pistol loaded with silver bullets he used to lure the shapeshifters out, but really both of them knew it was not needed with him.

 

Sherlock followed the man into the building, anxious to know what will be happening next. He wanted to resolve the puzzle and finish the case, so he could come back to John. John, he had forgotten about him. Would he be worried? Maybe mad with him?

 

It was strange indeed, that the sandy-haired man was in his thought in this moment at all. Sherlock shook John from his mind and focused on the man who was opening a lab room for them. The persistence of John Watson in his mind at inconvenient moments was a puzzle for another time.

 

The cabbie offered him a seat in front of him near a big window, Sherlock accepted and the real game began.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What Sherlock Holmes could not possibly know was that they were not alone. Annais Fernand was never far behind, jumping and running after them in her city. And when the cab finally stopped she was there. When they entered the building she was behind them like a shadow, and again when they sat in the lab. She was behind the door which was opened a little bit, sufficiently for a crossbow to find it's target when the time would come. The gun was an extension of her and it was set already on her mark, the old man on the right.

 

 


	7. 'There Is Not Going Back.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock plays gambit while vampires seek their marks
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to my awesome beta [ Mildredandbobbin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildredandbobbin/pseuds/Mildredandbobbin) and I had the input of [ vincentmeoblinn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn)I love you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me some time because i rewrite this chapter a couple of times before sending to beta. I will have a little delay next chapter but hopefully will be short.
> 
> Thanks for all your support! kudos, bookmarks and comments you make my life dear readers!!

**Chapter Six**

**'There Is Not Going Back.'**

 

**London, Baker Street, 2009.**

 

John sensed the wrongness of everything when he reached Lestrade and his men. Sherlock lied to him and now he was out there with the murderer. He explained the situation to Lestrade and the possibility of the murderer being a cabbie, and promised the DI to contact him if he had more news.

 

John started to walk faster when he reached the corner Sherlock had turned to meet the cabbie and called Mycroft.

 

“Holmes, it’s me, John. Your brother escaped with the murderer. It is a human cabbie, but he works for Moriarty. I will follow Sherlock by scent and my sensory _scan_ , but I would appreciate the input of your CCTVs. Prepare yourself for any contingency.”

 

“Acknowledged John, we are looking for the cameras’ feedback now. The cab Sherlock is in turned west; I will update you, and follow your phone’s GPS with a team.”

 

John felt the other man’s worry, almost imperceptible, at the other side of the line. “I will bring the git back.”

 

John ended the call and jumped to the nearest roof to follow Sherlock’s scent with more speed. He ran and leapt into the London night and suddenly, when he was closer to his prey, he felt another presence doing the same with the childish joy of a newborn running into the dark. Another vampire was hunting the cab. He had to be careful, so John slowed down and stayed a little behind the young vampire.

 

Finally they arrived at two identical buildings - some kind of college. Sherlock and the cabbie were entering the building on the right with the newborn a few steps behind. It was a girl vampire: trained assassin, but so very young, no more than 30 or 40 years of being turned into vampire.

 

John decided to take the left building. He followed the party, mirroring their destination. He finally reached a big window which connected to a garden in between the two building and to another window where Sherlock was seated with the human serial killer in a lab. Behind the door of the room, there was the girl vampire with a weapon ready to kill her mark.

 

John secreted himself in the side of his window and heard the conversation on the other side. Timing was everything. Since the vampire on the other side was waiting for some cue, he had to wait for the same before he could intervene. John texted Mycroft with the situation, and waited.

 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**London, Rolland-Kerr Further Education College, 2009.**

 

 

Annais decided to watch the infamous Sherlock Holmes doing his best, while she waited for the moment to come.

 

She knew the entirety of the cabbie’s speech by heart and it was really boring; she didn’t know how the werewolves didn’t fall asleep with the incessant droning voice of the taxi driver. But now Sherlock was describing the cabbie, and she wanted to know what was so special about the detective.

 

“So all this isn’t about a petty revenge against the werewolves? Love is a vicious motivator, it is not?” The younger Holmes was smiling at the other human.

 

“As I said you before, I don’ care about the furry stupid creatures at ol’.” The cabbie was spitting the words.

 

“The girl in the picture is your daughter and she is dying.” Sherlock’s words were like a blow, and the other man was clearly upset with Holmes’ findings.

 

“Leukemia, it ‘as not cure for 'er, 'dose stupid docs' said ‘dere is nothin' more for me girl, Mr. ‘olmes.” The man was impressed but not happy about the whole exchange with Holmes.

 

“So you are waiting for the vampires to turn her for your troubles?” Sherlock mocked the other man.

 

“Me and de boss ‘ave’ an agreement, yeah. I finish my quota, ‘e saves me daughter.” Hope was upset and getting more by the minute, and Annais became alert.

 

“And this boss of yours is my admirer?, Moriarty, maybe?” Said Sherlock while smirking to the the cabbie.

 

This Sherlock was too clever for Annais’ taste, but James wanted the young detective to know about him, so this was alright. There was obvious surprise in the taxi’s driver face, even if he didn’t say anything, the human murderer was really angry now.

 

“Now we’re done talking, time to play my game, Mr. ‘olmes.” Yell the older man.

 

The next part was the same as always, except Holmes was not afraid. The detective didn’t move to take the flask, and he decided for the pistol. 

 

“Please shoot me; after all silver bullet especially if they are hollow- because of the high price of the metal- can’t make too much damage.”

 

The cabbie was furious when Holmes got up and attempted to leave. And he started to describe the detective and his infinite boredom. The incredible thing, was that the words were hypnotic to the human who took the bottle and the pill with poison, while Hope continued to talk.

 

That was it, Annais knew. She must stop Sherlock from taking the bloody pill, but how? She didn’t know how to stop him. She killed people and other things, she was not used to bloody saving them.

 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John didn’t understand why Sherlock fell into the murderer’s trap so easily, like he was brainwashed. Suddenly he took the bottle from the table and with the poison in his hand and begins to lift the pill to his lips.

 

Apparently the other vampire was lost as to what to do. It was now clear to John that her job was keeping Sherlock safe for Moriarty, but the newborn had no idea of how to accomplish it. So he had to blow his cover now.

 

He _scanned_ the area for Mycroft’s team; they were almost there, so maybe a distraction would suffice. He reached the mind of the head of the operation and gave him instructions about to where to go, and made him think it was his idea when he looked at the buildings. After that John took his gun and aimed.

 

Sherlock had the pill at his lips and John shot. The bullet flew securely and speedily to its target. Hope fell with only a grunt.

 

**At the same time several things happened at once:**

 

The young vampire fired her bolt into Sherlock’s leg.

 

Sherlock jumped backwards, the pill falling from his hand. And he fell against the wall with the impact.

 

John reacted at once feeling the intoxicating scent of Sherlock’s blood and jumped out of another window onto the roof disposing of the gun, to finally come back in less than five minutes to the building where Sherlock was.

 

The newborn left as fast as the celerity of her legs allowed her. John didn’t follow her, because he was too worried and too driven- by the blood spilling from Sherlock’s wound to worry about the girl yet, but he would not forget the signature of her mind or her general features.

 

Mycroft’s Team was there, securing the area and entering the building. As the other vampire had left the scene, John let his presence and anger be known and everybody let him pass without asking who he was, what he was doing there, or remembering those facts either. Humans would act at his will if he wanted and he wanted to reached Sherlock right at this moment; the other humans were in the way. 

 

John knew this was the first time in nearly a century he was _ad portas_ of a frenzy, but he was past the point of caring.

 

Hope, the cabbie, was dead. The stink of him reached his nostrils fully, but the blood pumping from Sherlock was too overpowering for it to set in. John had to tame himself to walk properly and not to enter into his animal state. At the lab, the detective was trying to reach the table and get up; this was making his wound to bleed further. John tried to control his pace as a human running and held him before he fell.

 

“John, but how?” Sherlock asked disoriented.

 

The quarrel had dug a profound wound and had crushed the bone. John was furious, ‘Stupid girl!’ John would hunt her down soon enough.

 

John sealed the room with a flip of his hand. No one would see the room until he wanted them to. “Sherlock, it’s ok, someone shot you in the leg. I will take out the bolt, so I can stop the bleeding, all right?”

 

“The cabbie?” Sherlock asked while nodding about his wound.

 

“Dead Sherlock, someone was following both of you, first let me take care of you, and then we can take care of the scene okay.”

 

“Promise me to take pictures if I’ll pass out, John.” Sherlock took the lapels of John’s jacket, looking dreadful.

 

“I promise, now let me work.” Only the detective could be worried about the crime scene. And really he could not keep his promise.

 

John put Sherlock gently on the floor and put himself atop of him, inspecting the quarrel, it was old fashioned, like 800 years old. It was made of wood and sure enough the point was iron and like the old good ones. The newborn was clearly an assassin; it was obvious her weapon of choice was a crossbow, and that she used this kind of bolts to kill vampires because of the wood- the old stake through the heart- and the point made of iron for faeries.

 

Without losing more time, with one hand he took the quarrel out and quickly he sucked some of the blood, expecting the vile taste of an innocent, but it never came, Sherlock's blood was perfumed and more delectable than anything he’d ever had. It was difficult but John regained his focus to put some of his natural anesthetic into Sherlock bloodstream so he'd fall unconscious. 

 

The wound was worse that he thought so John bit his finger and let a single drop fall into the destroyed bone. He took the bolt and put it in the outer part of the bone while it was repairing itself with John’s blood. So, John left there would be a wound in the bone but not as devastating as the original one.

 

While the bone repaired itself, the old vampire lapped more of Sherlock’s blood and then cut part of Sherlock’s trousers and made a makeshift dressing. John really hoped that Sherlock didn't make bleeding a daily occurrence, because apparently he was the only innocent in the world who triggered his blood fever and he was too old for that. 

 

John tried hard to overcome his senses and after some minutes he opened the room for everyone to find it. He decided that if he took some pictures for Sherlock, after taking the bullet from the wall and bagging it in his pocket, it would help John to think more clearly, and stop his near frenzy, before everyone got in the lab.

 

The operation team had already called the Yard and John quickly explained the situation to them.

 

Finally the ambulance came and they took Sherlock, John followed them, he would never leave his side. The paramedics asked him if he was a relative, John manipulated their minds without shame or care, so they didn’t ask again.

 

When Lestrade came minutes later and asked him for the events of the night, John dismissed him, as if he hadn't heard him, while following ‘His’ detective into the ambulance. Yes Sherlock was ‘His’- the gods protect him- there was no turning back now.

 

The ambulance disappeared into the darkness leaving Lestrade with the same sense of _deja vu_ as the first time he saw the short blond man.

 


	8. 'Confusion, Fear and Rage, Maybe Love?.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft looks for the truth while Lestrade tries not to think too much about it. The mad prince is angry and there’s only one vampire who knows how to soothe him.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> **Beta:** Fabulous friend [ Mildredandbobbin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildredandbobbin/pseuds/Mildredandbobbin) You are awesome and I love you!
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter Seven**

'Confusion, Fear and Rage, Maybe Love?.'

**London, Rolland-Kerr Further Education College, 2009.**

Greg arrived at the crime scene to find Mycroft’s men all over the place. There was an ambulance, and Sherlock Holmes was carried by the paramedics and John Watson followed him into the ambulance. Greg ran for it and tried to reach John to ask him about everything, but John was like was a man possessed. He exuded power and determination. When Greg tried to approached him, he was dismissed as a simpleton. The ambulance doors closed in his face and the DI. was left there wondering about this doctor guy. Who and what was he really?

 

He collected himself and went to the chief Op. to find out what exactly happened inside the college.

 

Inside he learnt about the serial killer, who was a cabbie just as John had said to him. Jefferson Hope, lay dead on the floor of the lab. The weapon used was a handgun, and the bullet was propelled from the building opposite, shattering the window and penetrating Hope’s heart before lodging itself in the wall. However the casing wasn’t there now. The vigilante who had murdered the killer obviously had cleaned away his or her trace.

 

There were two flasks in one of the tables and two pills on the floor, near the body. So there was the weapon used with the other four. The cabbie also had a gun that had not been used; maybe it was the means to make the victims swallow the poison?

 

The weapon that had murdered Hope was nowhere to be found. 

 

Lestrade left the first building, intending to enter the other one to see the place where the killer’s gun had being fired. A black Sedan had pulled into the car park. He left Donovan to take care of the scene and went to the car. Mycroft called for him without needing to say a word and Greg had long ago lost the ability to say no to the tall, handsome British Human’s government himself.

 

  
The door opened and Gregory Lestrade entered the car. Inside he found the calm and perfect face of ‘his’ Mycroft. After all Mycroft was not as untouchable as Lestrade had thought at first. After some years of constant flirting they were now...fuck buddies? Lovers? He really didn’t want to categorize “this” because whatever “this” was it was dangerous. Moriarty had not said a word about it, but it didn’t mean he didn’t know, and Greg was acutely aware of his situation and he didn’t want to get Mycroft into any danger.

 

“Hello Gregory, you look worried, I am sorry that I came to bring you more trouble, but, I think it is time to talk, don’t you agree?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**London, Moriarty’s Den, 2009.**

Sebastian Moran had just arrived in England a few hours earlier to find his boss in disarray and clearly mad. Sherlock Holmes or the plan with the werewolves must be the problem. He entered the office trying to send calm and reassurance into his lover, but to no avail. He decided to sit and wait for Jim to acknowledge him and to ask him what he could do to help.

 

After half an hour of tantruming where James destroyed some furniture and a couple of idiots who came asking if he needed something, Sebastian stayed there without making a noise. The prince finally turned to him, still really pissed, but now he would be easier to approach.

 

“Sir, do you want me to send someone to dispose of the bodies, they don’t look good on your carpet.” Sebastian was looking at Jim with fondness and waiting for the best.

 

James looked down to see his work, he took some of the blood and went to the door and wrote something and shouted himself for the service.

 

A woman vampire came and took the bodies out, closing the door behind her without saying a word. The girl was wise.

 

“Seb, they almost killed him! And now he is living with some human, I’m not happy.” James was really pissed off and Sebastian tried to calm him, he tried to be closer to his prince and offered him comfort.

 

“My Prince, you know you can ask everything of me, please let me help.” James looked at him with intense black eyes filled with rage and lust.

 

“Come here Seb, kneel at my side.” Sebastian went to his master and knelt, looking at James at all times.

 

“Good boy, why aren’t the others like you?” Jim petted him with his bloody hands and put his face in his crotch. Sebastian was not fool and, really, he liked this side of his prince, so he eagerly took the zipper in his mouth and undid James’ trousers with care, then he took his half erect member through the cloth of his pants, mouthing what he could, earning a growing erection and a smirk.

 

James nodded and Sebastian took his pants down with care and tasted his prick with his tongue, while his hand made James fully hard while caressing the tip with his tongue. He tried to be careful that his canines didn’t fall over the erection; he took his Prince into his mouth in one painful swallow to the bottom. Jim gripped his hair and fucked himself in Sebastian mouth with abandon, Sebastian let himself go, while he was used like this he felt his master’s rage dispel and the building lust replace it.

 

Sebastian was really happy to oblige, so he tried to suck and play with his prince’s member trying to elicit a lustful sound, a compliment or better, a full session afterward.

 

Finally James increased the tempo and Sebastian went deep into his mind, pain and pleasure were a mix. Finally he reached deeper into the space of his mind where nothing could disrupt the state of calm and secure pleasure, until a cold spurt entered his throat. Then he was unceremoniously taken by his hair and raised upward to Jim’s eyes level. With a wistful smirk, the mad lord pulled his head to the side in order to have full access to his neck and started feeding upon him.

 

No one but his master had reign on Sebastian like this, and no one ever would. They were like twin souls James and he, merciless and powerful. For Sebastian whose sire Richard had abandoned him all those centuries ago, Jim was his everything. The mad prince had found him, and even if he was from clan Brujah, he took him as an progeny, Jim gave him purpose and power, toys to play, a happy life in the mirror world. Sebastian gave orders or vicious punishments in his name and that was glorious, but to be with his lord, be used by him was powerful too, because no one else has the power to give him pleasure or give him peace as he could, and he was proud of his part to play in his master’s under life.

 

Sebastian knew also that before him, it had been a female vampire, a snatched fiancé of a Holmes’ who had been his lover, and that Jim was hunting a Holmes now. But he was confident that puny human never would have this. None of Jim’s conquests had taken his place and none ever would.

 

As if on a cue or an awful joke, James was _stretching_ time with him taking him to hunt Elsie Holmes and long for her, Sebastian didn’t like that. He felt replaced by a longing he never felt, and this phantom Elsie was always replaced by the young human, Sherlock. In the prince eyes they were the same person. And he made Sebastian feel that longing for the black curls and the perfect white skin, for the bright brilliance, like a lighthouse in the dark. But for Sebastian the light on the sky was right there and he took his Prince’s wrist and took it to his mouth, kissing it reverently, teasing it with his canines. James let a moan escape and Sebastian looked at him as Jim, who nodded and gave him access. Sebastian, with reverent care, nipped the wrist and, extending his canines, bit and lapped the red elixir without letting a drop fall. He _stretched_ the few moments in reality he had into a session of lovemaking for his James, doing everything he knew he liked best and trying to convey his adoration. Too soon he felt his hair taken painfully by a beloved hand so he lapped the wound and closed it.

 

“So cute still, my little Seb. What I will do with you eh?” said James while sending him to his seat.

 

“Send me to work? And maybe promise me some time for ourselves in the near future?” said Sebastian smirking with a sure even voice. He would not plead outside of their time together and that it was in the past now.

 

“That’d be good Seb, we need to focus. That mortal cabbie I was playing with almost killed my prey! Annais stopped the worse of it. But there was another player the one who really terminated the menace and saved Sherlock Holmes. I need to know who he is Seb, who is he? Is he a liability? A trap? An ally? A stupid someone who was there just in the right place and time? The same infamous human who is living with my belongings? I need to know? I don’t like loose ends; you know I don’t like them. It is enough that I had that pedant of Arthur and the Holmes’ hunters, here on my back. I’m so angry that I’m not clear in what to do and who to send, I don’t want to make so much of a ruckus until ‘The Plan’ is ready, and you know that is the only reason why I had not taken my prize yet.”

 

Sherlock Holmes again, well Sebastian knew he had nothing to say about that. “My Lord, Do you want me to take care of the hindrance myself?”

 

“No Sebby if you do it is the same as me doing it, and that is not stealth at all! But Annais was not so good at it, she is better at killing people, I see that now. I was thinking of giving her to you for a week or so because she was really close to losing Sherlock.” James was seated at his desk and making a hand gesture about how close Annais had been to being killed, if things had gone worse.

 

Sebastian thought about it and he gave his prince a sly smirk. “I think I know the perfect person for this job, my Lord.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Some Place in the Streets of London, 2009.**

“Sir, your brother is out of danger, but he has a leg injury and he will be out of it and on drugs for a day and then he will have a fortnight recovery with a leg cast. The procedure closing the wound was a success and John is taking care of him, but he wants to talk with you because he won’t be staying here tomorrow. But as you see sir, you can go on with your evening tonight as planned. Sherlock will be awake by tomorrow evening and I will be here to take over from Dr. Watson at the first hour of the morning.”

 

“Good work as always, Anthea,” said the calmer voice of Mycroft Holmes at the other end of the line, in his car. “Please ask John and the doctor in charge to call me if there are any changes in his condition, any hour, it is not a problem.”

 

“Yes, sir, I will. Good night and give my regards to the Detective Inspector,” she added with a veiled smug voice, that obviously did not pass Mycroft’s attention unnoticed, but really Anthea was in his confidence and he could not do anything without her assistance.

 

“If it that is all, you are dismissed for the night, until tomorrow morning, Anthea.”

 

Mycroft looked at his companion who was clearly worried about what Mycroft would say to him. But he preferred to wait until they’d reach his residence. The discussion that was overdue.

 

Mycroft really didn’t know what to do with Lestrade now. He had never felt this way about anyone before, the connection was overwhelming, but he was not fool, he’d had a complete training as a child and he worked with vampires closely, he would not wait any longer for the truth from his lover’s lips even if it was the end.

 

After a double curb he knew they were almost at home. “The time can’t be stopped and the truth can’t be denied, death is unavoidable and caring is not an advantage.” His mother had said to him when he was little. He knew now that time could be doubled, truth could be bended, death could be changed to undeath, but he knew nothing about caring and maybe it was time he started to know.

 

He took Gregory’s hand and they both left the car without saying a word.

 


	9. Rituals of Blood and the Fear of the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John fights against himself and Lestrade prepares himself for the worst."
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warnings:** Some possessiveness and blood drinking from an oc. Mentioning of sins of rape from a sinner but nothing graphic.  
>  *from John pov who feed from sinners so he see bad things as _sins_ not so much this writer, obviously rape is a very low act from very low and bad people, but not necessarily had religious connotations*
> 
>  
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Fabulous friend and beta 'MildredAndBobbin' You are awesome and I love you!
> 
> And thanks to all of you for your support and your kudos and bookmarks i hope you like this new chapter as well and let me know what do you think!
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
>  

**Chapter Eight**

**'Rituals of Blood and the Fear of the Truth'**

 

 

**London, University Royal Hospital, 2009.**

 

John was afraid for the first time in centuries. He had never felt so out of control than he did right now. He had been successful in avoiding the frenzy and the transformation that it had caused to his body. But he had been careless with several humans and now possibly Lestrade would think there was something fishy about his nature. He was not a newborn, how had this happened to him?

 

This man, this impossible, beautiful, brilliant man had changed his life completely in less than three days. This was unacceptable. But here he was, with his Sherlock Holmes, entering the hospital to the A&E and he wouldn’t be separated from him, because he physically couldn’t leave his side.

 

John took Sherlock’s hand, feeling his heart beating in his chest, smelling his blood still surging from his wound, and he needed to be positive that no one other than him would be tasting it.

 

John knew what his priorities should be. He had a really important assignment which was growing more important by the minute. He needed to go to Edinburgh right this moment to inform Sir Ian, The Ash, and find Clarisse and tell them about the real plan of Jim Moriarty. John was the only one who really knew what was happening and maybe the only one who could do something about it.

 

The time had run out already, John knew he needed to find the right clan of werewolves and convince them to work in partnership with their old enemies in order to save Europe. Who knew if more places were in jeopardy. Werewolves were tricky, even if now they were not at war and in a good diplomatic relationship, this didn’t mean that werewolves and Vampires were friends or brothers in arms. John had some werewolves friends in the past but, in his long afterlife, they could be counted on one hand.

 

John needed to focus, but instead of being on the road he was in hospital, rooted to the detective’s side; unable to leave him alone, before making his claim for everyone to see.

 

John’s rational mind knew that, for now, he could not take Sherlock. First, he needed to kill Moriarty, and that was proving to be more difficult than expected. He must finish the disaster the mad prince was conjuring upon the human and the mirror world, and only then he could kill him. Then he could take Sherlock and explain to him what he really was and what it would mean to be bonded and turned by an ancient vampire such as him.

 

The vampire was really lost. They wanted to take Sherlock to the operation room and John growled at the doctors. John had to physically hurt himself to stop from ripping them apart or tearing the minds of the nurses trying to separated them. Anthea was there and John tried to focus on the woman, while digging his nails into his hands, drawing blood. He saluted her and he excused himself hastily and left the A&E. He would hunt tonight and regain his control, there was no other alternative.

 

It was really not that hard to find suitable prey. His mind supplied a sinner some levels above.

 

The man was asleep, hooked to an IV solution and medicine bag pumping in his bloodstream.

 

The man was fifty, not appealing at all. He was the chief editor of an entertainment magazine, a serial rapist. His last victim was a university girl, who had been there for an interview, after he first attacked her she had run from his office and he pursued her into the street where he was hit by a car. He was a bloody scum, usually the better blood to taste.

 

John closed the door and made the room disappear from view. He took the needle off with ease and then he bit. The blood was rich and invigorating but nothing like Sherlock’s perfumed and velvety essence. He sipped the blood until he knew the man would certainly die if there wasn’t a transfusion soon enough. John lapped the wound and left no other mark than the same one from the needles in his vein, and he set the line again. John went to the private bathroom to clean himself and rinse his mouth with the toothpaste he found there.

 

A calmer John came back to the waiting room to join Anthea with two cups of tea, and he was able to think again.

 

“Mycroft will not come tonight?” asked John, smiling and offering the tea to the assistant.

 

“No, he is occupied cleaning the scene and he has a personal matter to attend to, but he will be here tomorrow first thing in the morning, or in a moment in case of an emergency, Dr. Watson.” Anthea didn’t smile but accepted the tea with a nod.

 

“I need to go on a business trip once I’m sure Sherlock is okay. I have reason to believe Sherlock is in danger, because the injuries I treated before the ambulance arrived were even worse than they are now. We were followed by a vampire who fired upon him, Moriarty is closer to getting his hands on him. Please call Hunter security for him in the hospital at all times. I will stay here until you come back tomorrow, but send the first shift now. I will call you with the specifics from the operation and let you know how everything goes, so go catch some sleep and come back as soon as you can in the morning to exchange shifts with me.” John had almost the entire plan for the next day in his mind, now.

 

Anthea put the plan into action and called for the Hunter association. John used the time to think more about what he had to do. He would have time to think about Sherlock Holmes after his interview with Sir Ian. He exhaled the air he didn’t need to hold in his chest and sipped his tea; it was a little cold by now.

 

The hunters arrived a little before the surgery had ended. Sherlock was all right but he would be out on sedatives and meds for 12 hours at least.

 

Anthea left for her home and called Mycroft; while John entered Sherlock’s private room.

 

Alone with Sherlock, John stayed sometimes simply observing the detective who looked so young and fragile in the bed. He got beside Sherlock and scented him, and finally he kissed those heart shaped lips.

 

“Mine and no other,” John murmured into Sherlock’s ear. He sat in the chair beside the bed and took Sherlock’s hand in his.

 

“Mine.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

**Central London, Mycroft’s Flat, 2009.**

 

By the time Lestrade entered the car, he knew that Mycroft was privy to his nature. After all, he was a Holmes, maybe he’d known for some time, but playing with him had been good for Mycroft up until this point, but not anymore? Greg was really anxious and afraid of losing everything.

 

At first Lestrade had fallen for the man, because he saw his precious Elizabeth in him. Greg was right though, Mycroft was the reincarnation of Elizabeth as Sherlock was day by day more close to Elsie Holmes. But Mycroft Holmes was much more than Elizabeth, and Greg had only fallen deeper after the time they met; they’d talked a lot, because of Sherlock. 

 

At first, between Mycroft’s big brother complex and real concern for the broken Sherlock, they started to meet in the Holmes’ way, via abductions in his car. The Detective started calling them dates and flirted without shame at every opportunity he had, he couldn’t control himself before the man. He was so proper and civil that Greg wanted to make him disheveled and come undone.

 

And one night he had accomplished it. They were fighting because Sherlock was clean and wanted to live on his own and Mycroft wasn’t having it. Soon he was not sure how they were kissing, all mouth and teeth and dominance, and Greg had pinned the taller man to the wall effortlessly, not noticing he had done it, and Mycroft was panting, his member hard and his erection letting itself be known. How much Lestrade had wanted to bite his beautiful neck then and always. He contented himself with nipping and sucking instead, leaving a mark that proclaimed, “You are mine Mycroft Holmes!”. Mycroft had opened his shirt, leaving his tie on, and Greg with a smirk, grasped it pulling Mycroft closer into another maddening kiss while with his other hand explored all the skin he could grab and scratch it with his own nails until blood came out, disrupting the white with crimson, tasting a little of that heaven. That was enough, Lestrade had taken his clothes off, ripping off what he couldn’t undo. And had taken him against the wall right there. Things were finished too soon; they were too much invested and breathless. Lestrade had lapped all the seed between their bodies leaving Mycroft totally undone.

 

After that night, three years ago. When Mycroft had some time on his hands he would look for him and kidnap him and they ended up like that where ever they could reach. His door, the studio, and sometimes they did reach the bedroom. But they never talked about ‘this relationship’ they had, only of work or history, a subject both of them loved. They sipped some bourbon or other alcoholic beverages, some times dinner or breakfast and then they parted ways to work.

 

Moriarty had never said a word about it. Except at the beginning when he’d just met Mycroft and he had asked for his help in taking care of his baby brother.

 

“So you are playing double agent now, my pet?” had said the mad prince looking at him with mischief.

 

“You know very well where my loyalties are forced to be my Lord,“ he had said, spitting the words and eliciting a real smirk from the madman, Moriarty always was amused by his rebelling.

 

“That’s good to know because you know very well what would happen to you otherwise, my little amusing pet!” Moriarty said laughing at him openly.

 

“You know I will know!” The prince had mocked him while leaving him there, knowing he was trapped.

 

But Lestrade couldn’t be far from Mycroft Holmes like a moth can never be far from the flame which could kill it. So now he was there, in Mycroft’s studio, waiting for the bourbon to be poured and his life to become more deeply fucked up that it already was, because it always could be bloody worse, of course it could.

 

“Now, my dear Gregory, I think a presentation of yourself is in order and overdue, it is not?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**London, University Royal Hospital, 2009.**

 

 

John passed some time during the night creating temporal guards in the room. John bit his finger and started marking his territory with his sigil on the floor, the door, the medical instruments, the bed and, finally, he put one on Sherlock himself with his blood on his forehead.

 

John kissed Sherlock's dormant lips for the last time and he made sure he wouldn’t rise from his sleep until John came back.

 

The guards John put in place would be his eyes and ears in his territory and his ward, so even if he was far away he would know if someone was taking him away from the room or if Sherlock was in danger.

 

He had asked for some things to be brought up to him by Anthea in the morning for his trip. He was ready.

 

When Anthea came back first thing in the morning, with his backpack, John was sat at Sherlock’s side.

 

“Good Morning Anthea, this is a letter for Mycroft, there are instructions for the hunters.” John was serious and imposed his voice a little to be very clear and remembered by the assistant. 

 

“Only you, Mycroft and human staff are authorized to enter into Sherlock’s room, even the DI can’t enter ever. I put some guards there and it is very dangerous for anyone who enters who is non-human or not authorized under my commands. Do you understand Anthea?” John looked at her as if she was a little girl who needed things to be explained to her and led about it.

 

Anthea nodded and understood, even the condescension; she was no fool, and for John she was a little girl and he was really upset because of Sherlock and you don’t cross a possessive vampire.

 

“I’ll shall do as you ask and be certain your instructions will be met. I wish you luck, Dr. Watson.”

 

John certainly would need all the good will he could get. He smiled at her. “Thanks, I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

 

John got to the roof, disrobed himself, turned the backpack smaller and let himself fall from the top of the building into the open sky, spreading his open arms to catch the wind to reach the end of the city limits.

 


	10. 'The Tiger, The Falcon & The Queen and King of the British Empire'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, a lifetime is not enough and love is larger than death.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Betas:** Thanks to my fabulous friend [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildredandbobbin/pseuds/Mildredandbobbin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little ill and with a big writer block after it, but here i'm back. Thanks a lot for all your support!
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter Nine**

**'The Tiger, The Falcon & The Queen and King of the British Empire'**

 

 

****

As the landscape became more and more rural, the falcon descended and a white tiger took his place, touring North West running faster than the mighty beast could ever achieve in nature. When he was closer to the most populated area, he resumed the Falcon form. Finally, John was before the estate outside Edinburgh that he knew to be of Clarisse.

 

Being so close and traveling in animal form for so many hours, John couldn’t stop himself entering as the falcon form . So he went directly to the house and into the balcony of the room he remembered as her bedchamber, all those many lifetimes ago.

 

And there she was, white as marble, as always seated on a divan reading, on an iPad now, instead of a scroll or a book, with her once long black hair now cut to shoulder length. Clarisse was alone, so he flew through the window and landed at the end of the divan.

 

“John, Darling. You could have called you know and told us you were coming. I’m going to send for Ian from the city discreetly.” She smiled and petted him and sent a Skype text to the Prince or The Ash, with her iPad.

 

“John, I will ask for something more suitable for you to wear. Wait for me in here a minute”. She petted him again and left the room.

 

John changed back and, making his backpack big again, changed into his jeans and striped jumper. Clarisse hadn’t changed one bit, except for the technology and her hairstyle, of course, but that was something to be expected considering her personality. The house looked old now; well three hundred years would do that to a house he supposed. Clarisse had it in really good condition and renovated from what John could see.

 

They had met on an assignment in France. The marks and the business ended fairly quickly and with time on his hands and good company they had made a tour of Europe before the queens and kings started to fall. He wasn’t much for glamour and parties, but Clarisse was different and they had great time in the most posh places. The food was good too, evil people in top society always tasted good.

 

And they had ended up at the end of the century in England. She bought the house and tried to convince him to stay, but he was called away on another assignment and really, she was a Ventrue, and they always settled and made fortunes and took governments or enterprises. John was not made for that, and he had his job, which could call for him at any time, for decades, if the assignment required it. She knew it, when she bought the house but they both let it slip until he was called again. John wasn’t good with relationships but maybe Clarisse was one of his better ones.

 

Clarisse came back with clothes and left them on a chair. She looked at John. “You have not changed a bit, dear, still no fashion sense at all, but you look great, otherwise. I have missed you.”

 

“Me too, Clarisse, and your hair, what did you do to it?” John asked with mock sadness.

 

“You need to change a little you know. Speaking of, here, change into a more suitable outfit before some of the help think you are a bum and call the police.” She smiled at him.

 

“I met him in the East, and I knew right away that Ian was yours. You always told me you liked taller men, also he has more fashion sense for sure. Is he good for you?” said John, while changing into a casual suit his measurements in different tones of blue, like one Sherlock would buy for him, if he had a say in John’s decisions about clothes. This last thought made him smirk.

 

“You know me too well, darling. I suppose, as I was the one who turned him, I looked for the one perfect for me of course, and he certainly is better than you,” she said with a smirk and a wink.

 

“No doubt about it, he is taller.” They laughed together a little and went to the study.

 

John asked her for her knowledge of werewolves clans, he needed to find a shamanic oriented one who was not opposed to working with a vampire for mutual benefit.

 

She left him studying the books and an organized and updated list and maps of the tribes and clans she kept on the werewolves of England, until Ian arrived.

 

Clarisse was really good at archiving and summarizing information into the core facts. He found that apparently the clan of the Druids wolves was no more, but there were the _Fiannas_ and the _Black Furies_ , the most important clans for his needs:

 

 _The Black Furies_ were the ones who took care of the saint _Points of Power_ in Europe, and the _Fiannas_ were the typically more British clan and more approachable folks. _Black Furies_ were Amazons, a female werewolves’ only clan who were very non-approachable, less so by a vampire; but they were the ones who were in direct danger and would have a direct hand in the solution.

 

So he started with looking at the _Fianna_ community near the London and Edinburgh area. 

 

Clarisse joined him with some brandy and after realising what he was up to, started to make a map for him about the saint _Points of Power_ in England and the most important ones in Europe on her laptop. John supposed by the end of the day, the map would be 3D and with a _Google map_ attached to either point, knowing Clarisse as he knew her.

 

While John was getting acquainted with the faces and bios of the leaders and second in command of the _Fianna_ communities, The Ash arrived.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Central London, Mycroft’s Flat, 2009.**

 

  
Since Mycroft had met Gregory Lestrade he had started to dream. At first he didn’t remember the dreams and dismissed the whole affair because dreams were not important.

 

But after they started to “Date? Relationship? Partnership?” -- Mycroft really didn’t need to name it, only on these instances, when thinking about it as a thing -- Mycroft started to dream more vividly and remember more and more, until one morning he found he could pinpoint the historical period accurately. This had really haunted him, because there was a difference between the English king Henry’s time and his daughter Elizabeth’s in the XVI century.

 

Then Mycroft understood that these dreams of his were in fact more close to memories and in several of them, Gregory was there. He looked really handsome in period clothes, he might add, in one dream he gifted him with earrings and he looked like some wild thing, a captain of the seas, and that’s why in the dream he gave him the duty of forming a secret Privateer armada.

 

Mycroft had started looking for historic information about his dreams and finally some days ago he put his hands in a painting; a painting of Gregory. Lord Gregory Lestrade, one court noble man, no much information about him, worked directly for the queen and apparently one of her favorites. So if Gregory was this man, then Mycroft was who exactly?

 

Mycroft was not a man to believe in the supernatural. Werewolves, fairies and vampires were not supernatural, because they were on earth even before humans, but ghosts, reincarnation? That really was not possible, not to him at least.

 

Mycroft had known for some time that the detective was a vampire; one without fangs, in disgrace and being punished by Moriarty, and clearly not a danger for his brother. Gregory was the appointed cleaner of the city, so far so obvious, but he was a good soul. How he had put himself on Moriarty’s bad side Mycroft didn’t know, but clearly his role concerning his brother was watching and protecting, he didn’t know if the first was by choice, but he knew the last one was.

 

Even though Mycroft knowing every bit of information of the DI, he knew, he still couldn’t stop falling for the man. He was handsome, funny, clever, wild, a man of knowledge, caring and passionate and even if he was a vampire and apparently an older one, he had his humanity almost intact and that was a miracle. Even Mycroft wondered if he had his humanity intact, even if he was in the said race himself.

 

So, here he was in front of his lover waiting for his answers.

 

“My, I don’t know how to start, and if you’ll ever forgive me, but I’m a… vampire.” The other man fell more than sat on the couch as he was waiting for a death sentence.

 

“The dramatics, doesn’t suit you, Lord Gregory Lestrade. I knew you were a vampire before I ever saw you in person. Carmenere? Pinot Noir?” Mycroft went to his liquor cabinet and took a bottle of Carmenere red wine and opened it, looking for glasses while waiting for the appropriate time for the wine to breath.

 

As the DI was still speechless, Mycroft gave him the glass, he took it, downing the wine in one go. Mycroft really preferred tasting it, Chilean wine was not as well known but had several international medals and Mycroft really liked the fruity taste of the Carmenere, it had an interesting peach aftertaste, and several unknown ‘floral’ bouquet. He wondered how the Chilean Syrah was, he had only purchased red wines from that country, but he had known they had an expanded variety even within the white spectrum. Certainly this was better than the popular and cheap Chinese ones which were so in vogue, but clearly there were some vintages that he preferred in their French variety, there was no question about that, whites were French. But he could always buy a Late Harvest, apparently Chile had good ones, they had some spirit derived from it, if he remembered correctly or was it a Chardonnay? Mycroft decided to make sure to call his Vintage importer this week.

 

:::::::::::::::::

 

Greg was spiraling down. My had always known, what did he want from him now then? He looked at his lover, who was absorbed in the glass in his hand. Every other observer would think he was thinking about vintages and he would be right of course, but he was hiding behind that glass, waiting for him to say something. So Gregory couldn’t leave his lover drifting in wine vintages until he returned to world domination, because he would lose him there.

 

If he was not that desperate now he would find Mycroft’s mind escapes really cute. Greg didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking right there. Greg wished he could read minds too, so he could be at least at the same level of intel on Moriarty, and not be in this constant blind fear, incapable of protecting the ones important to him. Greg knew now, because after all he couldn’t read minds, that his lover knew he was a vampire all along, and if Greg wasn’t so desperate, he would be laughing hard.

 

Greg tried to calm himself. “There is only one thing that you must understand; I never lied about my feelings about you. What do you want me to tell you Mycroft? Ask away?” Greg tried a smile, but he knew it was not as good and charming as he wanted it to be.

 

“How old are you? Is likely the most common question I imagine, but I tracked your existence to the XVI century so how much older, would be the better question? And you had me under surveillance too, or is only my brother, for your jailer, Moriarty.” Greg could see how Mycroft was pondering his answers while balancing his glass between his fingers

 

“As for the second question who is shorter? No, I only had Sherlock under surveillance because of my forced employer. But I took that ward also for myself because your brother is a magnet for trouble and it is really hard to keep him alive and well. And I hope for big things from him. I even hope that maybe sometime in the future he can liberate me.”

 

“About me, I was born in the XIII century as a human and vampire, so I’m 700 years old. I have been imprisoned by Moriarty less than one hundred years, where he has taken my freedom, then my canines off, my dignity, my ability to sire, several of my powers and my means to feed directly from humans.” Mycroft left the glass in the mantel, his hands were red and marked by his nails because of the anger building up inside him during the last part of Greg’s tale.

 

“Why were you punished by Moriarty and why you didn’t run or hide, and stay here to be fangless and become a simpler cleaner?” Greg could see how My tried to calm himself behind his business mask. In his mind he was thinking about how to kill Moriarty for sure, Greg needed to stop him when the time came, it was too dangerous.

 

Greg start speaking and decided not to stop for anything anymore.“I was the second in command of the Prince of London for more than half century, and the leader of my clan for one; but I was too young and naïve. I didn’t see Moriarty coming, and I was too involved in my personal romantic life and the political warfare of England in the human court at the time to see clearly. When I lost the love of my life I lost my purpose and my sight. I left everything and ran away to India for more than two centuries, when I came back, everything was lost I fought in the resistance to try to win back my clan and rid my country of Moriarty and then Moran, but to no avail. Finally he took me at the end of the XIX century. I asked for Elsie Holmes sometime before for help, but Moriarty was too strong and Elsie and her organization was too young. So I lost and here I am now. Why didn’t I hide? Because I always thought I could win my country back, but obviously I was mistaken.” My was pacing about the room until his ancestor was named and he was really anxious to know more.

 

“Also you will ask soon, so, yes I’m the Lord Lestrade who made the changes in the vampire politics and made Bruja and Malkavians one clan and Ventrue and Tremere another, and also I was pivotal in changing the new clan Bruja-Malkavian into the new leader of London and unintentionally causing our current peril. At the time Alastair was an old and very wise, even if eccentric, vampire leader of the Malkavians, how I was to know of the future and Moriarty’s betrayal and murdering?” My’s eyes were wide in wonder for the first time in the evening.

 

“So now you’ve got the culprit of everything. I am guilty of the existence and rise of Moriarty, because I made the beautiful palace and left it without guards for him to take because I was heartbroken; very intelligent on my part. And I stayed here because I deserved it and because I’m waiting for the chance to make things right.”

 

“I was waiting for it and then to simply die or fade until you appeared in my life for a second time.”

 

“The first time I met you, you had redder hair and were a very young, beautiful, intelligent thing, full of power and marvel, milk white skin, deep blue eyes and a voice that could raise and make fall empires, make and destroy me, and you did, both of them.”

 

“The second time, you were less young, but for me you are still too young and precious, you still are so intelligent and powerful, made of wonder, now you are more sarcastic than before and taller, just as passionate but you are wiser and stronger and I love you more than anything, even more than the first time. I don’t want to lose you again, and that’s why I was trying to protect you, but you always amaze me and now let me pray for the best because now that Moriarty knows I cannot protect you anymore from him.”

 

“I’m under your command my King. As you were my Queen once, as with me as you please.”  
Greg kneeled in the old way before Mycroft and took a ring that was on a chain around his neck and offered to him.

 

Mycroft was amazed and without words as he took the ring from Gregory’s hands and saw that it was a big ruby and in the inner ring it said “To my Immortal Beloved Gregory from Eliza.” And after the name was the queen’s sigil. After reading the inscription Mycroft experienced a waking dream of him preparing the words, going through the castle in person to the master of gems and jewelry, to see the work done. And finally he remembered giving the ring to Lord Lestrade, after a passionate night, their tenth anniversary.

 

“I seriously was Her Majesty?” asked Mycroft, baffled still.

 

“Just like right now, you are the British Government,” said Gregory with a flirting smile.


	11. “Information, Arrangements, Reunions''

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Summary:** Going ahead with every plan sometimes leaves you baffled, anxious or jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the great hiatus. But first I got into the Watson Woes Challenge, and after that I fell ill, I had a friend from other country for a visit (It was amazing!) My son's B-day to plan, well life was on the way.
> 
> I want to thank all of the kudos and viewers and the bookmarks of this fic and tell you that it was never abandoned and I value all of you very much!
> 
> I had like 3 project in the cooking, and some challenge to fill, but I hope there won't be another big hiatus again, I'm working in the next chapter!
> 
> **Beta:** Thanks to the lovely and wonderful MildredandBobbin who not only help me with my grammar, she also gift me with Sherlock's dvds! In my country you can't buy them, because the series is only available in Netflix ( I live near the Penguins) so Thank you! you are awesome!

**Chapter Ten**

**“Information, Arrangements, Reunions''**

 

 

**Edinburgh, Clarisse’s Estate, 2009.**

 

John and Clarisse had a wonderful time and John explained his problem with Sherlock, his blood lust and that it was difficult not to just claim him on the spot.

 

“My dear John, it is obvious that you must to tell him.”

 

“But Moriarty is hunting him down, he will read him like an open book, this whole situation not only puts Sherlock in danger, but the whole operation and you know what is at stake here, luv. It is not only my vampire heart.” John turned grim and stared into the void.

 

Clarisse looked at him knowingly. “John, if you don’t make this clear with the boy you could lose him because he wouldn't know what he could have. At least as a fake human you must talk to him, about what you feel.” 

 

Clarisse was right of course. John tried to calm his posture and Clarisse, seeing his stressful demeanor, started to talk about ‘the work at hand’ and little by little about the good things about the past and people they knew.

 

They were laughing, remembering Austria, while downloading the information from Clarisse’s computer onto a memory stick, when Ian entered the Library. He was in dark blue bespoke suit with his hair in perfect order and the only thing off was his thoughts. John was taken aback at the jealousy that plagued the mind of the younger vampire.

 

John turned from Clarisse and smiled to him, while Clarisse ran to him to kiss him and embrace him about the waist. That eased the fire in the mind of the vampire a bit. He didn't know about his and Clarisse’s shared history?

 

John approached him and extended his hand in a very open and amicable way. “Good afternoon Ian, we were just catching up while we were waiting for you.”

 

Ian put a fake smile on his face and took his hand, shaking with more force than necessary while securing Clarisse’s shoulders with his other hand. “Good to see you John, I came as soon as I was able, please report to me and tell me what brings you here.”

 

Ian was almost cute, Clarisse and John exchanged a knowing look and Clarisse was at the point of giggles. _“Don’t be like that Clarisse, the poor boy, does he even know about our history or did it all just hit him when he walked into the room?”_

 

 _“A girl never tells everything but maybe you are right, I might explain about you better, we don’t want to be on his bad side.”_ Clarisse opened her mouth and reintroduced John to her lover.

 

“Ian, my darling, John knew you were mine when he saw you in Afghanistan, and we hadn’t seen each other since I built this house, as you see, we had a lot to catch up. Don’t worry my dear we used the time to work as well, looking for the info John needed. I will go prepare our meal and come back, please make the dull report in the meantime.” She kissed Ian on the cheek and rolled her eyes at John. “Ta” she said as she went out of the library to the kitchen.

 

After John explained to Ian about the mysterious assassin and the cabby serial killing werewolves, and what he had discovered about Moriarty’s plan. The Ash was uncomfortable, observing him like the predator he was, obviously John was the first ex he’d met. John made pretended that he didn't notice, because it was Clarisse’s job to explain if she wanted to, not his.

 

When Clarisse came back the tense air cleared a little and they took their cups of warmed blood and drank in silence for a bit.

 

“Ian, John will need our assistance to reunite with the Fianna’s community and arrange an emergency meeting with the werewolves asking them for a team to help John in his quest and alert them to Moriarty’s intentions,” she said while sitting at Ian’s side and caressing his hand in small circles, to soothe him surely.

 

“I’m not certain how happy the werewolves will be about working directly with vampires, but obviously this it is a matter that involves them directly. But I’m not sure what kind or how much help The Fianna will deliver,” said the Ash with honesty and concern.

 

John knew the facts about the past hate between Werewolves and Vampires and it was only a fragile truce now, what they had, but they really needed each other now, they could fight tomorrow but help each other today.

 

“I know it won’t be easy, but I will take what they’ll give me.” John was determined and Ian appreciated that as he nodded and stood up.

 

“I will take care of this John, you go back to your station and I will take care of the werewolves’ community and ask for Fianna help to be sent to London and to contact you there as soon as possible. Mycroft will give you the place and time.” The Ash shook hands with John, agreeing to the plan of action, the tense situation of before was now passed. John was relieved.

 

John packed the information Clarisse gave him in his memory stick. Clarisse had packed two other suits, John knew better than to fight her now. She showed him a site where he could leave messages to them without been traced. John was grateful.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**London, Moran’s Office, 2009.**

 

Annais was now aware that her future was in danger, she has a plan and she had decided that it was better to discuss it with Sebastian Moran first, than with James. She was persona non grata after all. But she had spent years gaining her post and she wanted to be far away, but she didn't want to be dead, there was a real difference there.

 

As she approached she noticed the Brujah was talking on the phone so she decided to wait outside. It was impossible not to hear bits and pieces of the conversation from her position in the waiting room.

 

“There will be risks baby, but the reward will compensate for any risks you will undertake.” Sebastian sounded almost amicable.

 

“Your expenses are covered in the trip and a house for your stay will be provided so your status will be maintained for your clients, don’t you worry, remember with whom you are talking babe.” 

 

“It is information that you do better and you will not stay in here for long, no more than six months, more or less.” Annais could feel the tension increasing, but she was used to her short tempered boss, and he was never angry for long in this kind of situation.

 

“Woman, you know what is expected of you, so come when you are called, if you don’t want to lose something precious to you?”Annais was now counting the time until the yell that would came and the capitulation from the other side.

 

“Baby, do you see those two big guys over there? They will accompany you here in order to take care of you and your house here in London. We take care of our own, if you take care of us…Good baby, that’s what I was expecting…. See you, sure thing we can have a little fun when you come to town….good girl! Bye.”

 

Annais was a little uncomfortable, clearly Moran was not so happy with his conversation, but she put her naïve façade in place and knocked on the door.

 

“Come in Annais. What it is that makes you come like a little kicked puppy to my door?”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

****

 

London, University Royal Hospital’s Roof, That Night Fall, 2009.

 

John kissed Clarisse and got in the helicopter, he had complained about it, but he wanted to return earlier so he let her convince him in the end.

 

John had been monitoring Sherlock during the day and he had not stirred and no one had come near his claim. During the flight he sensed someone near, but the person was detained before getting in the room. John couldn't see clearly.

 

The helicopter was over London’s evening sky, the Moon was rising and the city below was starting to light up. It finally landed above the hospital and John left quickly to go to Sherlock’s room.

 

Mycroft was beside Sherlock’s and outside there was his intruder, DI. Lestrade. John was angry but calmer than the day before, he put on his best smile for the inspector while entering the room.

 

“Mycroft, I think I was clear about bringing Moriarty’s sniffing dog in here,” said John with a voice that didn't tolerate misbehavior.

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, a little impressed; he forgot at times the unassuming man was in reality a very powerful being. “He was with me and he wanted to know about my brother’s health in order to interrogate him about the case.”

 

“You must be more careful with your company in bed Mycroft, he is very dangerous because even if he isn't really evil, he works for Moriarty and Moriarty sees through him, and now apparently sees you naked as well. Can I trust you now with information you might crassly divulge in a moment of passion or while sleeping by his side?” John was really losing his patience but his face was totally calm, and all of a sudden, Mycroft felt like a little kid in his father’s study looking at his grandfather.

 

“John, my country comes first and foremost in my life, I’m well aware of the quandaries, and I know that Lestrade being a prisoner of Moriarty doesn't mean much to you, but it does to me. I understand your concerns so from now onwards you will have direct access to Anthea and she will act as the attaché with the Ash. Does that suitably placate your concerns?” Mycroft was hurt and not accustomed to being treated in this manner. 

John was fine with it; Mycroft needed a shaking from time to time. Anthea was responsible and John knew that Mycroft would not compromise the situation further.

 

“It is a good arrangement,” said John with a minimal smile.

 

“I think you could turn Lestrade to our side. Try to take Intel from him if you could, Moriarty will ask the same of him, as you know, because with one glance he will know about you two as I did, and where I see the danger, he will see the advantage, I hope he won’t see your more intimate connection though. I understand why you can’t turn him down now as you couldn't the last time around.” Mycroft seemed baffled for a second time, and he knew it had shown in his face for a second too much, but he got it under control with speed.

 

“I could say the same, about danger and who you choose to fall for,” said Mycroft looking at his brother. “But as you said John, I understand how an intimate connection can be formed and how you can’t turn it down. I hope you see the disadvantages as well. I leave you to him, for now.” As he said this Mycroft tapped his brolly on the floor to take his leave. Now it was John’s turn to be baffled, Mycroft Holmes was really remarkable.

 

“Then it is your job to reign in your dilemma and I mine, you will never discuss my intimate connections again, so you will leave him to me, period. Remember Mycroft you were the one who asked me to stay by his side in the first place. I don’t see you as a man who would not foresee the consequences of his requests.”

 

Mycroft didn't turn back and closed the door behind him. He hadn’t foreseen that he would be changing one vampire for another, but he couldn't argue about his choices now. He got out of the room closing the door behind him, he would concentrate on making Lestrade an asset for the moment, at least his brother had a good bodyguard against Moriarty. He had to hope that the mission took precedence over his brother for ‘The Healer and The Sword.’

 

…………………...

 

John sat down at Sherlock’s side and this soothed him immediately. When he caressed his face, Sherlock started to stir. When Sherlock opened his eyes, those beautiful eyes which could be silver, green or pale blue, John felt at home and kissed him gently on the lips. He felt whole like he never had since his Sire left him so many millennia before.

 

To be continued....

**Author's Note:**

>  **More author notes about this Au:**  
>     
>    
>    
> Vampires have an ancient culture, with their own clans and politics. Vampires have a Prince who reigns in every important city.  Although they live and work among humans, generally humans are ignorant of their existence. However, there are some humans who work for vampires especially accountants, lawyers, maids and valets, doctors, etc. A few highly placed human politicians are aware of vampires on a need-to-know basis.  This is known as the Mirrorworld.    
>    
>    
> Every major city has a Prince who rules over it. A new vampire in the city must pledge submission to him while in town and obey the rules he has made for the interrelationship with humans, vampires and possible werewolves or other beings in the vicinity.  A Prince is generally a vampire older than 200 years old.  
>    
>    
> In a country there is a Council of princes, instead of a king. The Council is also always includes two Gangrel representatives, because the Gangrel clan is never in charge of a city, but of course is worried for their people within a country. In the Council there are in modern times;  a human, a werewolf, and some other creatures or magic-alchemist parties that exist in the country. If some Clan is not represented by some Prince in the Council it will have two representatives as well. They make decisions about major situations when needed. There are Continental councils too with similar constitutions.  
>    
> The resolutions of the council are final and punished by death if they are not followed.  
>    
>    
> In my creation if you are an old enough vampire you have no problems with the sun, also if you are turned by a powerful old vampire, because you earn part of his powers. But the vampire and sire must be at least 400 years old so there are not many vampires out there who live in the sun and obviously not the whole day, also this counts for make believe: you eat if you are old enough, you can intake some food and not poison yourself but only if you are more than 200 years old for liquids and 500 years old for food. Not pleasant but useful. 
> 
>  
> 
> In the Vampires the Masquerade there are several clans of vampires, I will only be using 5 united in 3 and they will not be exactly like the original, but here are the characteristics of the clans in this fic.  
>    
>    
> 1- The Gangrel:  They are connected to the earth; associated with werewolves in some parts of the world, and with expert assassins in others.  They are older and can live in the wild in any condition.  They love travel and do not feel comfortable in cities for very long.  They have the blood of gypsies, Egyptians, Persians, Vikings and Mongolians.  
>    
>    
> 2- The Malkavians: They are the crazy ones. Powerful and childlike, they love games and puzzles. They are very clever, but their genius can range from naivete to darker and more horrible than your worst nightmare. Also they are old and powerful. They love cities and people to play with.  
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> I will include the Bruja with the Malkavians because they made an alliance in England under Elizabeth the First. When she instituted the corsairs, she also promoted the new house of the Malkavian-Bruja to rule London.  
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> The Bruja are strong, powerful and resourceful. But they are also anarchists at heart, disliking politics in favor of brute force.  They are not geniuses like the Malkavians, but the two Houses united make an unstoppable combination.  
>    
>    
> 3- The Ventrue are strong in politics and finances; they love books, are rich and educated, and are more involved in human business and politics. Since Elizabeth the First they have tried to lobby their way back into the government of London, but to no avail. But they have the majority of other major cities in Britain. And they have more support from human politicians and the international vampire community than the actual Malkavian-Bruja government of London. And who rules London... rules England.  
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> During the late XIX century the Ventrues and the Tremere houses merged into one.  
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> The Tremere: The clan of witches and warlocks of the vampire society. They seek power through knowledge, and conduct experiments on both vampires and humans. They are very powerful alchemists.  They made many new discoveries during the wars of the XX century with the funds provided by their new allies, which resulted in healing enhancers such as enriched human blood and medical advances for humans; sold to them by the Ventrue via their several companies.  Their research methods were, of course, unpleasant.  
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> Their alliance with the Ventrues is strong, but not complete;  when they really merge they will be a force to behold.  
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End file.
